


Spencer Reid: White Knight Sequel

by brittishmenorbust



Series: Spencer Reid: White Knight Series [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Baby, F/M, Pregnancy, Sequel, Some angst, fair amount of plot though, gideon is like a father figure, mostly cute, some danger, some smut, some violence, white knight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6669790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittishmenorbust/pseuds/brittishmenorbust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Spencer Reid: White Knight in which you and Spencer deal with another foe while trying to get pregnant (and succeeding!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most people say that the first year of marriage is the hardest. Those people had most likely not encountered two serial killers, a gunshot wound, and your husband, Spencer Reid. Nearing the first anniversary of your wedding, you were just as happy now as you were when you married the love of your life.

You were living in a dream world. You had published your first book to a reasonable amount of success, had revitalized your bookstore, and maintained a sometimes long-distance relationship with your crime-fighting husband.

Perhaps dream world was an overstatement. Spencer was gone a lot of the time, leaving you alone, or at least without him. Every other week or so he would have to fly off to fight another bad guy. The length of the cases differed, but they were never over quick enough, and your stomach never stopped reminding you that he was in danger when he left.

You had taken to having lunch with Penelope when the team was away. During her lunch hour, or whenever the team didn’t need her right away, she would either invite you into her tech cave, or the two of you would grab lunch somewhere nearby. She would often come over at night and stay with you if you were feeling particularly lonely. You two had gotten closer than ever. 

Of course you would Skype and call Spencer while he was away, but you missed the touch of his skin, the feel of his hair, the warmth in your bed. But, as they say, absence does make the heart grow fond, and you were always thrilled when he came back from his cases.

All this time alone, however, had given you ample time to write unencumbered. You had started a new story that you were very excited about. Your publisher was on board with the concept, although she wanted you to wait until the press for your current book was over. It had been a few months and your book had come to moderate success. Although it wasn’t on any best seller list, the growing fan groups on social media sites were nearly overwhelming. It seemed to be a cult classic, and this, in turn, brought a few new customers to the bookstore you owned and operated. 

The story was a little meta; something you’d always dabbled in, but never committed to until now. The heroine of the story was a writer, much like yourself. She had written a villain to face - a killer of the most gruesome kind, and then forgets about him; but then the killings start happening in real life. The man kills six people in the book, leaving a taunting note to the author each time. It was considerably more violent than your last book, and you were unsure if your cult following would enjoy it considering its nature, and the fact that it wasn’t the same genre as the previous book. Regardless, you were in love with the story, and had mapped out the plot points to perfection. All it needed was the actual writing.

Now, as you laid in bed, trying to write your story, you wondered why you ever became a writer in the first place. You wished the story would just write itself so you wouldn’t have to stare at a blank screen, watching the little cursor blink at you. 

Suddenly, you heard the familiar sound of the door opening, and lept out of bed. Your oversized tshirt, missing pants, and face mask were forgotten as you sprinted towards the door. You opened it with a huge smile on your face, expecting one face, but getting another. 

Morgan stood leaning against the frame. Your face dropped involuntarily. You had been expecting Spencer.

“Oh,” you said, surprised.

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Doubtfire,” Morgan smirked at your white facial mask.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Hi,” you tried again, opening your arms for a hug.

“Hi,” he smiled. There was something about Morgan’s grin that was infectious.

When he hugged you, you realized he was holding something. Leaning back from the hug, you realized it was food.

“I love you,” you said with a deadpan expression. He grinned again and handed you the bag of Chinese takeout.

“Reid said you’d be writing and forget to eat,” Morgan explained. 

“Where is that man?” you asked.

“He had to finish up some paperwork at the office,” Morgan said, avoiding your eyes. Suddenly, something felt a little off. 

“Anything serious?” you asked, pausing in your unpacking of the food. 

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. He sat down at the table and sighed.

“No, not really,” he said, sounding unsure. “He just… Every time we have to put a suspect down, the person responsible has to be assessed and has to file certain papers right away.”

You stopped completely and looked at him. He glanced up with vulnerable eyes.

“He had to kill someone?” you confirmed. 

You knew it wasn’t the first time, but it wasn’t something that got easier with repetition. Morgan nodded.

“The guy had a gun to a kid’s head. He’d already killed two other boys,” Morgan said without inflection. “It was the right call, but--”

“But it’s never easy,” you finished for him, taking a seat at the table. 

The Chinese food didn’t seem quite so important or appealing as it had a few moments ago. It wasn’t that you judged Spencer, that you thought he was wrong for killing these horrible people when he had to, you just knew that it weighed on him more than he admitted.

“You think he’ll be okay with this one?” you asked quietly, not looking at Morgan.

“I think he’s stronger than you give him credit for,” he responded. “And he’s stronger now, because he has you.”

You nodded, unsure of the truth of the words, but wanting to believe them.

“When will he be home?” you asked. 

“Shouldn’t be long, it was a clean case.”

You poked at the Chinese containers with some chopsticks. 

“Why don’t you go put on some pants, wipe that goo off your face, and I’ll put these on some dishes so we can pretend like it’s an actual adult meal?” Morgan offered.

A smile crept onto your face. Like his smile, his ability to change the atmosphere of the room was incredible. 

“I seem to recall you enjoyed that goo quite a lot a little more than a year ago,” you smirked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed you jokingly. 

He got up to get to work, and you went to the bedroom to change into sweatpants. You washed the mask off your face and felt how soft it had left your cheeks. When you came back into the kitchen, you saw that Morgan had put the food on plates and had placed three settings, and two beers out. 

“He won’t mind if we start without him,” Morgan said, gesturing to a seat for you.

“There’s a Smirnoff Ice in the fridge,” you said, noticing Spencer didn’t have a drink.

“Those things are like ninety percent sugar,” Morgan frowned.

“Why do you think he likes them?” you smiled.

He pulled out your chair and you sat down, smirking at him.

“My gosh, I’m a married woman. Do you pull all married women’s chairs out?” you jested.

“That’s right,” he smiled. “I forgot until you mentioned the face mask that it’s been almost a year.” He took a sip of his beer. “Time flies, huh?” he asked.

“It does,” you agreed, sipping your beer as well. “What about you and Savannah?” you asked. “Gonna tie the knot any time soon?”

Morgan put his hands up in defense as though you had accused him of something.

“Woah, woah, slow down,” he smiled.

“Slow down?” you laughed. “You’ve been together longer than Spencer and I have!”

“Don’t rush me, woman,” he laughed. 

“Well, if you don’t marry her, I will,” you warned him. “She’s a goddess.”

“She is,” he agreed, his eyes growing warmer with the mere thought of her. “And you know what, she’d probably accept your offer, she loves you.”

“Well, you better lock that down then,” you warned.

The two of you were giggling when Spencer walked in the front door. You turned and saw him. He always looked tired when he came home from cases, but this was a little more than that. He smiled half-heartedly at you and put his bag by the door. You rushed to greet him as usual, but didn’t seem as happy to see you as he usually was. You understood why he was off, but it still stung a little. After untangling yourself from his arms, you grabbed his hand and led him over to the table. Morgan had stood and patted him on the back, trying to offer a smile, but only coming up with a grimace.

The room was quiet as you all sat down, and you didn’t know what to say.  _ Sorry you had to kill someone today, _ wasn’t exactly a practiced phrase by most wives. You watched him carefully as he moved his food around on his plate. 

“How was your day?” Spencer asked you finally.

“Oh, um, it was fine,” you said. Your day seemed immaterial compared to his, hardly worth mentioning. Still, it might help distract him. “I got some writing done,” you said. “Not as much as I wanted to, but still.”

“You started another book?” Morgan asked, genuinely intrigued. “Can I  _ not _ be the pegasus this time?” he added in a mockingly serious tone.

“I can definitely make that promise,” you gave a small smile. “It’s not fantasy this time… Well, not really,” you added.

This led to a discussion of the general plot of your book. Spencer knew this already, but seemed to enjoy hearing it again; or perhaps he was enjoying not having to speak about what he went through.

You ate dinner while discussing the upcoming book and the press for your current book mostly with Morgan. The food went down easier when there was something to talk about. Spencer didn’t touch his food, or his drink. You worried about him, but didn’t say anything, and neither did Morgan.

After cleaning up the dinner, Morgan stretched in his chair.

“I should probably call it a night,” he said, getting up. “It was a long case for everyone, and Savannah’s waiting.”

“Remember what I told you,” you winked. He smiled.

“Yeah, I’m watching you,” he chuckled. He kissed you sweetly on the top of your head and walked over to Spencer. “Reid, you call me if you need anything,” he said seriously.

“Mhm,” Spencer nodded, not looking at him.

You walked Morgan over to the door while Spencer stayed at the table.

“I don’t have to tell you, but just be careful, take care of him, please,” Morgan said quietly to you.

“For better or worse,” you wiggled your wedding ring.

He nodded and bid you goodnight. You closed the door and took a breath, leaning against the wall.

Finally, you turned around and saw that Spencer was standing, looking at you morosely. 

“Do you hate me?” he asked quietly.

“What? No,” you rushed over to him. “Why would you think that?”

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck.

“Well, I did kill a man,” he said. “And then, at the door, your body language suggested that you were feeling overwhelmed and apprehensive.”

“You killed a monster,” you corrected, still clutching him to you. “And I was only overwhelmed and apprehensive because I didn’t know what to say.”

You pulled away to look at him. His expression was blank.

“What are you feeling?” you tried. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. 

“Nothing,” he said. “I feel nothing.”

You nodded, knowing numbness was usually the first to hit.

“That’s okay,” you assured him. “It’ll pass, and we’ll deal with it.”

He bit his lip and nodded. It seemed like he was about to say something for a moment, but he remained quiet.

“What?” you pressed his silence.

“You’ll be angry,” he said. 

“Tell me anyway,” you prompted. 

“I was just thinking that you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to have to deal with this.”

You sighed and took his hand, leading him across the room to the couch.

“You’re right, I am angry that you think that,” you gave a small smile. “But, it doesn’t change the fact that I am more than happy to  _ deal _ with it. That’s what I signed up for with this,” you gestured to your ring. 

“Morgan told you to take care of me at the door,” Spencer said.

“Yes,” you admitted. It wasn’t too hard for him to have guessed the contents of the short conversation.

“He thinks I’m fragile.”

“No, actually, he said that you’re stronger than I think,” you relayed. Spencer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And I think he’s right,” you added. 

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I am strong,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know it’s always bad guys that I have to… But it’s still a life.”

You nodded.

“I can’t pretend to understand, but I will listen to whatever you say without judgement,” you promised.

He sighed and steadied himself.

“I think right now I just want to try to sleep,” he admitted.

You nodded and stood, following him into the bedroom. Your laptop still lay open on the bed, and you moved it out of the way and shut it down for the night. You undressed and slid into bed, watching Spencer as he did the same, but in slower, heavier movements. He laid down and you let him rest his head on your chest. You stroked his hair as he listened to your heartbeat. 

You stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. Spencer would relax, start to fall asleep, and then jerk awake just before settling into sleep completely. Every time he started awake, you shushed him, making what you hoped were comforting reassurances as you stroked his hair. He would relax again, and repeat the cycle. About half the night passed in such a fashion. You woke when he woke; you calmed him down; you tried to sleep. A few hours before dawn he stayed asleep and you fell into a deep sleep as your body tried to make up the time it had lost.

Thankfully, your presence at the bookstore was no longer required every day. The sales from  your book, and some advertising had helped up the sales and allowed you to hire a manager in addition to the cashiers. Therefore it was not a problem when you woke up at noon. The room was bright and your body felt heavy. You looked around, but Spencer was not in the room. You got up and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, too lazy to put any clothes on over your underwear. Yawning, you entered the kitchen to find Spencer making eggs and bacon. He hissed as some bacon grease jumped from the pan onto his hand.

“You okay?” you asked, more in reference to his injury, but secondly, you realized, to his state of mind.

He jumped, having not heard you come in, and whipped around. He smiled when he saw you, but it did not reach his eyes.   
“Shoot,” he said. “You were supposed to stay in bed.”

“Supposed to?” you asked. 

“I was going to bring you breakfast,” he said, looking sheepish.

You waddled over to him in your blanket and hugged him, wrapping him in with you. 

“Why?” you smiled.

“I figured I owed you for last night,” he said softly.

You pulled away to look at him seriously.

“You don’t  _ owe _ me anything,” you promised. “I just hope you slept.”

He looked down and shook his head.

“Not too much,” he admitted. 

“Do you have to go in today?” you asked. He shook his head again.

“Mandatory time off for mental health,” he quoted. 

“Do they always do that?” you asked. 

“Not always,” he answered. 

You nodded, not wanting to press it further. You leaned past him and turned the stove off before it could burn the bacon. He seemed to wake up and remember what he had been doing and turned to resume his preparations. 

“Sit down,” he said.

You took your blanket and wrapped it around yourself, taking a seat at the table as instructed. He shuffled the bacon and eggs onto a plate, furnished it with some toast, and handed it over to you. He then made a plate for himself, poured you some orange juice, and sat down across from you.

“Did you sleep?” you asked.

He shifted uncomfortably.

“Sort of,” he said. “I believe I managed about a total of one hour REM sleep.”

“Yikes,” you tried to keep it light. 

“I just kept dreaming about it,” he said softly, poking at his eggs.

“What happened?”

Spencer shook his head and took a bite of his eggs.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered.

Taking the hint not to continue to press him at this moment, you dug into your breakfast. Spencer had done an excellent job. The eggs were flavorful in a way you had never accomplished.

“Where did you learn to cook?” you laughed, remembering another time he had cooked for you and you had asked the same thing.

“Gideon,” he smiled. 

“Really?” you asked. “He doesn’t seem the type. I figured it was mostly kill and eat in that forest hut.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” he smiled. 

For a moment he seemed to be genuinely happy talking about his friend; but you could see the moment where your distraction had run its course and the remembrance of his nightmares must have returned. You searched desperately for an idea to keep his mind off of this. There was no use in going over and over what he couldn’t change. 

Glancing over to the living room, an idea struck you.

“Will you read to me?” you asked. He glanced up from his eggs and cocked his head to the side.

“Is this meant to be a distraction?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “Slowing you down a bit, making you read one word a time for me. It’s also sort of a selfish demand to hear your voice.”

He smiled and nodded. 

“As you wish.”

You cleaned up your plates and wandered over to the couch. Spencer sat down while you perused your many shelves of choices. Looking at the spines of these books was like looking at favorite photos of old friends. Each one was just as nostalgic and inviting as the one before it. Your fingers brushed over the spines, feeling their worn and torn edges from ages of rereading, landing on Volume One of a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. Perhaps your great detective would like to read about another man’s mysteries. You popped the book out of its place and brought it over to him. You placed the book gently in his hands and he smiled enormously.

“I chose well then,” you smiled proudly.

“You don’t remember?” he asked. You quirked an eyebrow, confused. 

“Uh, I remember some of the cases,” you guessed, not understanding. He shook his head.

“When we first met you were asking me about my memory and I quoted a passage from “Pride and Prejudice,” he said. “And you said, ‘That’s amazing,’ and I said,’Meretricious.’ And then you identified the word from this novel, and we started talking about literature, and then…” he trailed off and you laughed.

“Well, look where that brought us,” you smiled. 

There was a moment of appreciation between you. Perhaps it was not the work of Sir Doyle, or even other, larger, forces, but whatever the cause, you were glad to have been brought together with the man sitting before you.

Spencer read to you for most of the day with a few breaks for food and kisses. You thought you were at least mildly successful in keeping the damaging thoughts at bay, but you knew from his hitching breath and twitching limbs when he slept, that he could not outrun them for long.


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer was near to bursting by the end of his mandatory leave. Although it was just a week, the next case he was allowed on, he nearly sprinted out the door to get to. You thought he would be reluctant to go, lest the previous situation repeated itself with a different suspect. However, he seemed anxious to go, and kissed you goodbye as he left with his bag for who knew how long.

You tended to your bookstore as usual, wrote a fair amount, and, also as usual, missed Spencer terribly. When you got a call from Hotch near the end of the week, your heart jumped inside your ribs. Why would Hotch be calling if not with bad news?

“Hello?” you picked up tentatively. 

“(Y/N),” Hotch said, sounding relieved. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You tell me,” you tried to calm yourself. 

“Sorry, it must seem strange, me calling you, I apologize if you thought it was bad news. It’s not, everyone is fine, I just wanted to ask a favor.”

“Oh,” you breathed out all the air in your lungs in relief. “Yeah, name it.”

“Jack’s nanny just got a really bad case of the flu, and obviously that’s not good for Jack to be around, and our backup nanny actually just left the country on her vacation… My neighbor can take him to and from school, but he really needs someone to stay with him at night. He’s been having nightmares lately, and I can’t ask my neighbor to devote her whole day to him. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really don’t have anyone else. If it’s a problem I can try to--”

“Of course it’s not a problem, Hotch,” you interjected, laughing. “I love Jack, and my nights are one hundred percent free.”

You heard Hotch sigh with relief on the other end of the phone.

“Thank you so much,” he said earnestly. “Reid said you would do it, but I just felt so bad asking something so much.”

“It’s nothing,” you assured him. “Just text me your address and maybe the neighbor’s number so we can stay in touch about times.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you so much, I owe you one.”

“Just keep my man safe,” you said. 

“Ditto,” Hotch laughed. 

It was nice to talk with Hotch, you realized. It wasn’t often that you interacted with him one on one, and even less often that he managed to laugh. You said your goodbyes and he texted you the information.

You got the store ready for closing, and checked your phone. The neighbor, Mrs. Gardner, was about ready to head home, having cooked Jack his dinner. You texted her that you were on your way after you stopped home for a few minutes to grab some supplies.

After packing a change of clothes, some books, your laptop, and toiletries, you drove to Hotch’s house. It was a little more than twenty minutes away, but you were more than glad to help him out. 

When you rang the doorbell on the warm winter night, you heard zealous footsteps quickly making their way towards the door. The entrance opened, and Jack stood bouncing on his toes, looking up at you with an enormous grin. 

“Hi!” he greeted you, reaching for your hand. “Come inside!”

“Okay!” you tried to match his enthusiasm without giggling at how cute he was.

He rushed you inside and into the kitchen. You hadn’t been to Hotch’s house before, but it was nice. It was a two story house with a kid-friendly, but also mature, distinctly  _ Hotch _ vibe.

Mrs. Gardner was in the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, when you arrived. 

“She’s here!” Jack exclaimed to the old woman. 

Mrs. Gardner turned with a soft, warm expression on her face. Her bright blue eyes took you in and she smiled. 

“Nice to meet you, dear,” she said. “Jack has been talking about you all day.”

“You have?” you questioned Jack. He nodded.

“He’s your biggest fan,” she chuckled.

“Ditto,” you winked at him. 

Mrs. Gardner showed you where all the food and supplies were and told you to help yourself per Hotch’s instructions. Jack was buzzing, just waiting for Mrs. Gardner to leave so he could show you his room, the prized possession of all children.

You let him lead you upstairs as he led you down the hallway and into the room with  _ JACK _ spelled out in dinosaur stickers on the door. You watched with delight as he showed you each of his favorite things in his room including a baseball from a game he and Hotch had attended, his soccer jersey, and his plastic dinosaurs. He was impressed that you knew a few of the dinosaur’s names. 

You had gotten there pretty late, and you knew that his bedtime was soon. He seemed to know this as well, constantly trying to bring your attention to something new in his room, even when there was not much left. 

“Jack, we should probably get ready for bed, buddy,” you said gently. 

“I’m not tired,” he answered, not meeting your gaze. 

“Well, you should try,” you said. 

“Will you tell me a story?” he asked sheepishly.

“That’s what I do,” you smiled. “I am a storyteller.”

Jack smiled at this and went over to his dresser.

“I’ll let you get changed and then we can brush our teeth together, how’s that?” you asked.

He agreed, and you left him alone to get ready for bed. He opened the door in his dinosaur pajamas, looking marginally more sleepy. You went to the bathroom with him and brushed your teeth, grinning at each other with frothy mouths, pretending to have rabies. 

When you got him into his bed, you pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. He lay facing you, his face catching the shapes of stars and moons as his nightlight spun around calmingly. 

As you began to weave a tale for him, his eyes drooped and his hold on his covers loosened. You continued your story until you were sure he was asleep, then slipped out into the guest room to change into your sleeping clothes. Your phone buzzed. It was Spencer calling you.

“Hey,” you spoke quietly so as not to wake Jack in the adjoining room.

“Hey, you’re at Hotch’s then?” he asked. “I assume from the whispering that Jack went to sleep?”

“Yeah,” you said. “It was easier than I thought.”

“I’m impressed,” Spencer said. “Hotch says it usually takes him and the nanny a few hours sometimes.”

You shrugged, although he couldn’t see it. 

“It’s a gift,” you chided.

“Well, we’ll be home late tomorrow,” he said. “We caught the guys today.”

“Guys?” you asked.

“Yeah, turned out to be a partnership. It happens sometimes.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage. “How are you doing?” you asked in a tone that he would know what you meant.

There was a longer pause than his previous responses.

“It’s harder to sleep without you,” he said softly.

“Well, just one more night,” you tried to sound optimistic. The thought of him struggling without you made your stomach churn.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding half relieved, half anxious. 

“I love you,” you said. 

“Love you too,” he said.

You said your goodbyes for the night and you tucked yourself in. You set your alarm for fairly early in case Jack got up. You snuggled into the comfortable bed and closed your eyes. Surprisingly, you were able to fall asleep pretty easily. About half way through the night, however, you heard noises coming from Jack’s room. Waking up,  you listened. It sounded like he was sleep talking. You slipped out of bed and walked towards his door. It sounded like one of Spencer’s dreams. You opened the door and walked inside to see Jack tossing and turning with a pained expression. Calmly, you padded over to his bed and knelt down next to it. You laid a hand on his arm softly, and whispered his name. 

He startled awake and looked at you, scared. 

“It was a just a bad dream,” you promised.

He rose up and wrapped his arms around your neck, breathing heavily. 

“What happened?” you asked.

“Chased by a giant clown,” he sounded on the verge of tears.

You made comforting noises until he unclenched his arms from around your neck. Settling back down, he looked at you for a hint as to what to do next. 

You settled down into the chair and he laid back down in his bed. 

“So, why clowns?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “They’re scary.”

“Yeah, I don’t like them either,” you admitted.

“Really?” he asked, surprised. 

“Nobody does!” you threw up your arms in an exaggerated movement that made him giggle. “But they used to,” you said. 

“They did?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, pulling out your phone. “Before what you know as a clown, they had better, funnier types of clowns.”

“Like what?” he asked, skeptical.

You pulled up a clip of Charlie Chaplin on Youtube, and presented the screen to him. He was soon laughing at the famous comedian’s slapstick humor. 

“See, clowns aren’t scary,” you promised. 

“I like that clown,” Jack admitted.

You chose a few more clips to show Jack of Charlie, and other silent comedians before he seemed more relaxed. He settled back down and you went to stand up. As you turned, after saying goodnight, you heard him call your name very softly.

“Yes?” you asked. 

He looked guiltily down at his sheets.

“Could you… Could you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

You walked back over and sat back down.

“Of course,” you promised.

And you did as he asked, staying with him until his breaths were long and even. You returned to your room, finding that both of you slept well after the small episode. 

In the morning, Mrs. Gardner came over and relieved you of your duties. Jack was glad to see her, but sad to see you go. You promised you’d be over after work with a surprise for him.

In the bookstore, you picked out a few dinosaur books and piled them next to your bag to bring to Jack. During the day you got texts from Jack via Mrs. Gardner’s phone, and you had a few conversations about Charlie Chaplin, astronauts, and even a debate about what food would be best to rain down on a town in if “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” were ever to happen in real life.

When you got to Hotch’s house that evening, Spencer texted you saying they were a few hours away. He promised to come pick you up at Hotch’s if you wanted to. You knew it would be around midnight, but going home with Spencer made more sense. Jack would have Hotch to protect him from his nightmares, but Spencer would need you.

Jack was over the moon about the books you had brought him. A few were technical books with diagrams and information about dinosaurs. One, however, was a story about a dinosaur, and Jack insisted that you read that to him for his bedtime story.

You obliged, feeling the weight of your eyelids as you tried to stay awake through the story. It was a cute story, but for some reason you were extremely tired this evening. Jack was tired as well, and fell asleep about half of the way into the story. You nestled into the comfortable arm chair, too lazy to get up, promising yourself that you’d get up and be ready downstairs when they came home. However, Jack started to toss and turn a little, and you thought you might as well stay with him until they came home in case he had another nightmare. You grasped his hand in yours and he stilled, apparently calmed in his sleep by your touch. You continued holding his hand, and eventually fell asleep like that.

A while later, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Blinking, trying to remember where you were, you looked up to see Spencer, his face illuminated with star shapes from the night light. He was smiling at you in a way that you had seen only a few times before, but were too sleepy to connect the events.

“Ready?” he whispered.

You nodded and regrettably let Jack’s hand go. He gurgled, but kept on sleeping. Hotch stood at the door with a kind, grateful expression on his features. You followed him downstairs, Spencer leading you with his hand on the small of your back. 

Once in the kitchen, Hotch turned to you.

“I can’t express how grateful I am,” he spoke quietly, but sincerely. 

“Honestly, it was fun,” you found yourself smiling. “He’s quite the little dude.”

Hotch laughed at your phrasing.

“Yes, I suppose he is.”

“And if you need me again while you’re away, don’t hesitate, I’d be glad to do it. It get’s lonely without this one anyway,” you pointed at Spencer.

He nodded with a happy smile. 

“Okay, thank you,” he said.

Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded and grabbed your bag, saying goodnight to Hotch, and making him promise to give Jack your love in the morning.

As you drove home with Spencer in the passenger’s seat, you kept catching him looking at you with that same expression. Although you were more awake now, you still couldn’t place it.

When you got inside, and saw him hanging by the door, watching you as you laid down your bag, you laughed.

“What?” you asked.

“What?” he repeated, looking innocent.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked. 

He shook his head and walked over to you, brushing his hand through your hair. He looked calmer and less anxious than you had last seen him.

“I just love you, and I missed you,” he said.

You frowned, unconvinced. 

“What?” he chuckled. “Is that not allowed?”

“It’s allowed, but it’s not what that look was.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed your forehead. 

“I’m supposed to be the profiler,” he laughed softly. “Come on, we’re both exhausted.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you found your interest in that expression waning as the promise of your soft bed came closer. You flopped onto the bed as Spencer changed. You had already closed your eyes when Spencer wrapped himself around you as if he were shielding himself from something.

You barely felt the kisses on your neck as he snuggled in next to you before you fell asleep.

In the morning he was still holding you, and you realized as you woke up, that he hadn’t had any bad dreams - at least, none bad enough to wake you. He was still sleeping and you laid there quietly, happy to let him sleep peacefully for a while. Just feeling him pressed against you was enough to keep you there. You listened to his even breaths and weaved in and out of sleep. 

You woke again when you felt Spencer hugging you closer as he stretched, waking up. You felt his hand brush through your hair lightly, barely touching you. You turned slightly to let him know you were awake. 

“Morning,” you greeted. 

“Good morning, my sun,” he smiled. 

“You slept,” you noted. 

He nodded. 

“It appears so.”

You turned over to face him and he moved to give you space. You brushed your finger against his pink lips before you kissed him. 

“I had a dream,” he said softly. 

“Oh?” you asked. 

He nodded, looking down at the sheets. 

“We were at Hotch’s house, only it wasn’t  _ quite _ his house. And you were there, in that chair in Jack’s room, only it wasn’t  _ Jack’s _ room… It was… I think it was our son…” he trailed off, trying to remember more details. “And you were reading to him.”

“That sounds nice,” you smiled 

He bit his lip and grinned. He looked lighter, less burdened. You wondered what had changed on this last case to make him so much better.

“I remember having a similar dream, at least a similar feeling to it one time,” he said. “When I was in that coma.”

You smiled again, remembering the dream world he had created where the two of you were married with a few kids. 

“What if… what if we started trying?” his voice almost cracked. 

It took you a moment to see what he was saying. 

“Trying to have kids?” you confirmed. 

He nodded still not meeting your gaze. You had thought about it of course, but you had always assumed it would be a little later down the line. Then again, it wasn’t as though your career was particularly time sensitive, and you could always write, kids or no kids. 

He waited as you considered these thoughts in silence. It seemed he thought you would automatically dismiss the idea. 

“I think,” you said, pulling at his chin to make his gaze meet yours, “That is a wonderful idea.”

Spencer’s face lit up with excitement and he let out a nervous laugh.

“Did you think I would say no?” you asked. 

He shrugged. 

“I… I don’t know… I mean sometimes I’m just amazed you’re still here with me,” he laughed. “I thought this might--”

You cut him off with a kiss.

“I thought you’d know by now that I would love you forever in this and any other plane of existence,” you scolded him. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “Still, it does feel like a dream sometimes.”

You shook your head and smiled. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” you asked the universe.

You smiled at each other for a moment before a thought occurred to you.

“What about your work?” you asked. “You’d miss a lot of his or her childhood.”

He shook his head.

“I could teach, or train recruits right here,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

“You’re ready to give all this up?” you asked. “The traveling, the cases, the catching bad guys?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately and severely. “If you’re ready… I… When I saw you with Jack, sleeping, holding his hand… Something happened inside me, something changed. I want that, I want it so badly. And I want it with you.”

You brought his lips to yours and kissed him passionately. You chuckled into the kiss.

“Do you even know how to change a diaper?” you asked. 

He laughed.

“I think I’ll have to learn a lot of things.”

You gazed at him for a while, your heart full of love.

“I think you’ll be a great dad,” you said. 

He blushed and pulled you closer to him. When you made love, you weren’t thinking about the fact that you were now trying to create a new life. When he was inside you, when you felt his breath on your skin, heard your name on his lips, you were just thinking about  _ him _ . You were thinking about how lucky you were, and how thankful. 


	3. Chapter 3

At first,  you weren’t surprised when you didn’t get pregnant. A few weeks went by while you and Spencer were trying to conceive, and nothing happened. You hadn’t expected it to. After two months, one of your periods was late. This almost never happened. Excited, you and Spencer ran to the drug store and bought a few tests. You got home and peed on the stick, following the directions precisely. You and Spencer waited, silent and buzzing, as the minutes passed. When it showed negative, you tried to smile despite the sinking feeling of loss in your stomach. Spencer pressed his lips together in a thin line and looked almost guiltily at you. You threw the stick away and pressed on, determined not to give up when you hadn’t even really started trying.

A few months passed and still nothing happened. You had read that it could take up to a couple years to get pregnant, not that you thought it would. You continued to write your new novel, and Spencer continued to work on cases around the country. He came home often enough that you would have thought by now you would have gotten pregnant. 

There were a few months where his work schedule only allowed him to be home on your periods, for which you were both annoyed. 

On the occasions when he did come home and you made love, you would remark that maybe  _ this _ was the time. He would respond that it was not your peak ovulation cycle, to which you would both laugh at his knowledge, and feel dejected. There were several times when you considered flying out to meet Spencer to jump him while he was on a case that coincided with your ovulation cycles, but not only did you not have the money for all those flights, you also knew he would be in no state of mind to do the deed. 

After six months went by, you started to worry that maybe something was wrong with you. When eight months went by, you convinced Spencer to see a fertility specialist, who assured you that you were both in fine health and should have no problem conceiving. 

After the specialist, you both returned home feeling defeated. Why wasn’t it working? People who wanted nothing to do with a child were having babies all the time.

Spencer seemed especially down, and you watched as he flopped on the couch in a sullen silence. You hung up your coat and walked to the couch, looking down over the back of it at him. He had closed his eyes and lay on his back, just breathing.

“Hey,” you said softly. “We’ll make it happen, don’t worry.”

He opened his eyes slowly to look up at you. Something weighed him down, and you didn’t think he was going to willingly share it. 

You walked around the couch and looked at him again. He opened his arms and you obligingly laid down with him, laying your head on his chest. 

“Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?” you lightly jested. 

“Hmm?” he asked, turning his head to look down at you. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I just asked if you were going to tell me why you’re so sad that we are prime physical specimens who should be able to get pregnant very soon,” you asked.

He sighed, and your head and hand rose and fell with his chest. 

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” he said in almost a whisper. His hand still where they had been stroking your hair.

“I thought you didn’t believe in anything like that,” you said, surprised.

“Maybe I do now,” he said stiffly. 

“Why?” you asked tentatively. 

He sighed again, and you could almost feel the weight of the world he lifted with his breath.

“The last unsub that I… killed,” he started, “He had a son.”

You kept quiet waiting for him to continue. He hadn’t mentioned this information before, but you didn’t seem how it was relevant now. Just because the man had managed to procreate didn’t undo all the wrongs he had done to his victims, or the fact that he threatened the lives of FBI agents and a child.

“Maybe…” he trailed off for a moment before resuming. “Maybe I don’t deserve to make a life. Maybe I’ve taken too many to deserve to make another.”

You let this sentiment sink in for a moment before responding. To you, it was ridiculous. Even if you did believe in some kind of balance like he was suggesting, the lives he had taken were villains, violent sociopaths. If anything he was making the world a safer place for the child he hoped to have. 

“Do you really think that?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. 

You could tell it was taking a lot of effort to admit this to you. Something Morgan had said about Spencer not opening up at all to anyone but you came back to you, and you realized how special this moment truly was.

“Do you want my opinion?” you asked.

He nodded, but did not remove his gaze from his fixed point on the ceiling.

“I think if anyone deserves what they want, it is you.”

He swallowed, but did not object. He waited in silence for you to continue.

“You are the sweetest, kindest, bravest man I know. You think that taking a life prevents you from making one, but how many lives have you saved? And not just victims, potential victims. You are and always will be my superhero, Spencer Reid, and one day you will be our child’s superhero too.”

You finished with a vehemence that matched the feeling in your heart. You waited, not daring to look at Spencer to see his reaction. You expected a rebuttal, something you would have to argue logically until you won, but he said nothing. 

After a few more moments of silence, you looked up at him. His eyes, and the areas around them were wet. He blinked and a tear ran down his cheek, getting caught in his hair. You felt the chest beneath you start to shake minutely, and you sat up. You gently wiped the tears from his eyes, and felt him calming beneath you. You waited until he had taken a few deep breaths, and his eyes seemed to have cleared. He tilted his head at last to look at you, and you saw that weight had been lifted somehow.

He leaned in and kissed you tentatively. His lips were wet and quivered as you kissed. 

“I love you more than I can ever say,” he whispered.

You leaned your forehead against his and smiled. Your faith in your relationship and your dream of a child had never been stronger.


	4. Chapter 4

Life seemed to fall into a comfortable rhythm. You managed your flourishing bookstore, wrote your novel, and spent the most time you could with Spencer when he was home. Since his confession of his trepidation about conceiving, the times you made love felt a lot less stressful. Now, instead of focusing on the goal, you focused on the process. Somehow, you had let sex become a chore to achieve what you had hoped for. Now, you focused on each other. 

Every time Spencer got called away was harder and harder. You still called and texted all the time, but both of you knew you would rather be wrapped in each others arms. 

Almost a year into trying to conceive, Spencer was called away on long case. He had been gone about two weeks. This was longer than you’d ever encountered. When he was away, and you missed your period, you began to get excited. You tried to calm the buzzing inside of you as you took one of the few pregnancy tests left you had bought the first time. You bit your nails as you sat in the bathroom, trying not to stare at the test as the agonizing minutes passed. This had happened before, several times, but this time felt different. You wished Spencer was here with you instead of halfway across the country, but since you could do nothing about it, you turned your attention to watching the lines showing up on the test.

At first you didn’t believe it. You checked and rechecked the box to make sure the signs you were reading were correct. You ripped open another test and repeated the instructions, forcing the small amount of pee you had left onto the stick. Again it showed the same sign: positive.

Your hands shook as you held the stick in your hands. Your first instinct, of course, was to run to the phone and call Spencer. However, you held back for a moment. This was special news, and it deserved a special reveal. 

Hearing the ring of your phone, you nearly dropped the test as you jumped at the sudden noise. You placed the test on the sink, tearing your eyes away from the joyous results to answer the phone. It was Spencer of course. You smiled and nearly laughed as you picked up.

“Hi,” you said, bubbling with excitement.

“Hi,” he laughed, surprised by your obvious joy. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said, taking a breath and trying to calm your voice. “Just excited to hear from you. What’s up?”

“Oh, um, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be heading home later today. We should be in early tomorrow morning.”

You jumped a little and contained the squeal that wanted to jump out of your throat.

“Great,” you tried to sound normal, although you had recently forgotten what that looked and sounded like.

“So, uh, I’ll try not to wake you up when I come home,” he said, still sounding a little confused by your overly excited tone.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, feeling like you wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week. 

“Okay, well I’ll text you when I’m close,” he said. 

You managed to say your goodbyes without screaming with joy. As soon as you hung up the phone you lined up the two positive tests on the sink. As the idea hit, you ran into action. You dried the tests and wiped them down with sanitizing wipes. Leaving them on the sink, you raced to get dressed and grabbed your keys, almost forgetting to lock the door behind you. 

Once inside your bookstore, you sprinted to the fiction section, grabbed an old copy of a volume of Sherlock Holmes stories, and ran back to your apartment. After a few Youtube tutorials, you carved out a rectangle. Looking over your work, you smiled, hoping that Spencer would love the idea as much as you did. You grabbed the pregnancy tests from the sink and opened the cover of the book. You placed both tests inside and closed the cover. All through the evening you kept peeking at the positive tests and laughing to yourself. It seemed unreal to finally have this, and to have to wait to tell Spencer. Not that you had to wait, but you knew he deserved this special moment you could create for him.

You paced and thought all night. You felt a new energy within you, something much stronger than any pull to create a story you had ever felt. Usually it was fictional people that kept you up at night, but now it was a real person. 

As the hours passed by, you kept checking the book and its contents. You were at the table with the book in front of you, your head leaning on your hands as you fought the sleep that wanted to take you. You were quickly woken out of your dozing when you heard the lock turning open. You jumped up and watched Spencer walk in, his face at rest in a neutral expression.

You grabbed the book and clutched it in your hands, nearly punching holes in the cover with your nails.

“Hi,” he said, eying you carefully now that he seen you.

“Hi,” you said through the bubbles of excitement in your throat.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Your voice is half an octave higher than usual and your pupils are dilated,” he said, hanging up his jacket and walking closer to you. 

His expression was half amusement, half curiosity. He edged closer to you and your hands shook, making the book tremble.

“Maybe I’m just pleased to see my husband,” you said, smiling. 

He cocked his head to one side and peered at you through squinting eyes.

“You know I study behavior, right?” he laughed. “What’s with the book? That’s not our copy.”

“It’s for you,” you stammered as he got closer.

You held out the book to him and tried to steady your hands. You wanted to rip it open and show him the hidden contents, but you made yourself be patient.

He looked at it as if it were a joke canister of taffy that would spring confetti in his face the moment he opened it.

He took the book carefully in his hands and examined the exterior, turning the worn pages over in his hands. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet in an attempt to free some of the excited energy inside you without screaming.

“Open it!” you finally exclaimed. 

He jumped a little, having not expected your interjection.

“Okay,” he chuckled.

Spencer flipped open the cover of the book and saw the first page was blank. He flipped it over to reveal the hollowed out pages and the two tests. He stared at them for a moment, and then took one of them out to look more closely at the result. He then picked up the other, balancing the book and the first test in his other hand while he did so. He quietly put them back in the book, closed it, laid it on the table, and stood silently in front of you.

His expression was unreadable as he stared at the floor. Suddenly your stomach sank. Was this not what he wanted after all?

Slowly, a smile spread across his face and he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His eyes gleamed and his lips expelled a sound that seemed to spawn directly from his happy heart. Your heart lept and you squealed with glee as he picked you up and spun you around.

His laughter filled your ears like music and you held onto him as tightly as if he would slip away at a moment’s notice.

When he finally placed you back on earth, he kept his arms around your waist. He took a deep breath and expelled it, drinking in the look on your face.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed, and his skin seemed to glow. In the morning light, his soft, pink lips pursed together and then spread into a smile. 

_ and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you _

The familiar words of your love story flowed in your ears, and never before had they been more accurate. In that moment, the moment where the two of you celebrated the joining of your souls, the creation of a new one,  _ he  _ was whatever a moon had always meant;  _ he  _ was whatever a sun would always sing.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, you made a date at the doctor’s office to get your blood tested to confirm the result. After booking the first appointment, you began to wonder. Were the two tests just flukes? Maybe there was something else in your body causing a positive result. You had read about guys that had taken them for a laugh, and found out they had testicular cancer. You shuddered, pushing the thoughts away. Something was different, you could feel it, although maybe it was just the power of suggestion.

You didn’t sleep the night before the appointment. Spencer slept beside you, his face neutral in sleep, the moonlight caressing the curve of his jaw. You watched him for a while, wondering what your son or daughter would be like. Would they have Spencer’s unruly hair? Would the have your artistic flare, or Spencer’s IQ?

The thoughts warmed you as if you sat by a fire, and only a few hours before dawn, you finally fell asleep.

The alarm you and Spencer had set to get up in time for the early appointment blared, and you grumbled. Spencers arms wrapped around you, gently rolling you onto your back. When you managed to open your eyes, he was there, almost nose to nose with you, smiling. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

You chuckled despite yourself and nodded, brushing your nose against his before kissing him. 

The doctor’s office was plastered with floral patterns. The couch you sat on had roses on its cloth, complete with rose buttons on the cushions. You tapped your foot nervously as you waited, while Spencer read through all the magazines on the table. An older woman was the only other waiting patient, and she had gotten there after you had. Finally, the nurse came and motioned for you to come into the office where the doctor would see you. It was a simple blood test, she said. They would get the results to you the following day, if not that evening. 

The needle went in, and you watched your blood flow out, wondering if you now shared it with another life. 

After assuring you that the home tests were usually pretty accurate, and she should have good news to share with you soon, you left and went home. The rest of the day was comparatively uneventful. You basically just tried to keep your mind occupied so as to not obsess over waiting for the results. You tried writing, and that helped for a while. You were coming very close to finishing the first draft of your newest novel, and as the words flowed through your fingers, you almost forgot why it was you were waiting for the phone to ring. When it did, you saw the number of the doctor’s office and yelped with surprise and excitement. Spencer, who had been reading, perked his head up and rushed over. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hello?” your voice trembled. 

“Hi, this is Dr. Bennett, is this (Y/n)?” the friendly voice asked.

“Yes,” you replied.

“Congratulations,” you could hear the smile in her voice. “You are pregnant.”

You dropped your phone on the table and scrambled to pick it back up.

“Sorry, you said pregnant, right?” you confirmed as Spencer held his hand over his mouth to keep the joy in until you had hung up.   
“Yes, ma’am,” she chuckled. 

“Thank you,” you said before hanging up.

You laid the phone down this time, and stood, facing Spencer. Although you had already celebrated, the assurance of the blood test made it even more real. He unclasped his hands and let the laughter and joy spill out of him. He hugged you and kissed the top of your head. 

You held each other for a moment. At first it was joyful, energizing, and then it calmed into something else. 

“It’s really happening,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his. 

He laughed. 

“Are you excited?” he asked. 

“Excited would be an understatement,” you smiled. 

Suddenly, you thought of your friends and family. 

“We have to tell the team,” you said. 

“I have to tell my mother,” Spencer smiled. “And my father, I suppose.”

You nodded. Although Spencer had been in regular contact with his mother still, he hadn’t mentioned his father much since your wedding. They spoke maybe once every two months, but never for long, and you hadn’t seen him in over a year. 

“I have to tell my parents,” you gasped. 

You wondered what your parents would think. You were still young, younger than they might have anticipated, but you had a feeling the grandparent role would fit them well.

“Oh my goodness, Morgan will want us to name it after him,” you rolled your eyes and laughed.

“He would say that the baby only existed because of him,” Spencer laughed.

“In a way, he’s right,” you acknowledged. “But we can never let him know that.”

“Agreed,” Spencer said. 

The following morning, you and Spencer invited the team over for a home cooked meal to tell them the news. You didn’t have any set plan in place to tell them, you just wanted them all together to tell them the news. Everyone agreed to meet at your place at seven, and you and Spencer went to work preparing a meal fit for the news. 

Grocery shopping with Spencer wasn’t something you did often, and for a reason. He was like a kid. All he wanted was the sugary stuff, and you had to drag him to the vegetable section. After compromising and getting Pop Tarts, you managed to put together some ingredients for an actual meal. You decided on pizzas, one with veggies, and one for meat lovers.

You were perusing through the peppers when you heard Spencer speak behind you, although it was not directed at you.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you heard him say. 

You turned to see a man about Spencer’s age talking to him. The man was muscular, had a classically handsome face, and wore a muscle tee.

“No way, Dr. Brainiac? How long has it been man?” the man slapped Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer swayed, rubbing the spot tenderly and wincing. 

“Um, please don’t call me that,” he muttered. “And it’s been twenty-three years, six months.”

“Wow,” the man sighed. “That’s right, graduation. You were what, fifteen?”

“Twelve,” Spencer corrected him dully. 

You walked over and slipped your hand into his. The man eyed you curiously, looking at your entwined hands and furrowing his brows. 

“This is my wife,” Spencer said proudly, grinning as he introduced you. “This is Eric.”

The man fumbled as you held your hand out to him.

“Y-your wife?” he confirmed, letting his gaze wander over you as if he were appraising you.

“Yes,” Spencer said. You noted the tone in his voice - was it arrogance? “My pregnant wife,” he added with vigor.

You watched as his words had what you believed were his intended effects. Eric was at a complete loss. Apparently, Spencer with a pregnant wife was more than he had ever dreamed.

“And how are you doing?” he asked. “Married, kids?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” Eric stammered. “Not yet. I, uh, I’m working on a work out program.”

“Right,” Spencer said. “Well, if the FBI can ever help…”

Eric’s eyes widened again. 

“The FBI? Jeez, Mr. Brainiac, I, uh, mean Spencer…” He trailed off for a moment. “Good for you,” he said finally, and, you thought, genuinely.

Spencer’s vibrato faltered at this, and he let a small smile onto his lips.

“Thanks,” he said. 

“Come on,” you tugged at his hand. “We have to start dinner.”

He nodded. 

“It was… nice to run into you,” Spencer managed. 

Eric returned the sentiments and the two of you left him among the broccoli. 

“How did he recognize you after all these years?” you asked. 

Spencer frowned and showed you his arm. A light scar ran along the side of it, almost imperceptible except in the right light. You had never even noticed it before.

“I was reaching for something, and he saw this.”

“What’s it from?” you asked. 

He sighed as he took the small basket from your arm to carry for you. 

“When we were in high school, Eric used to… push me around,” he said. “One time he pushed too hard and I fell on a sharp part of a fence. My mother made a plastic surgeon look at it, so it healed pretty well. Not to mention my skin was much younger back then.”

“You want me to go push him into a fence?” you offered, glancing back at Eric.

Spencer chuckled.

“Thank you,” he said. “But no. That look on his face when he saw you was more than enough.”

“I’ll be your trophy wife any day,” you jested. 

He frowned. 

“I didn’t mean… You’re not just....”

“Shh, I know,” you nudged him. “I’m glad I could help with any comeuppance.”

“Did you just want to say, ‘comeuppance’?” he smiled. You nodded. 

“But I meant it too,” you kissed his cheek as you reached the checkout line.  

After paying and bagging your dinner ingredients, and the Pop Tarts, you drove home and laid everything out. Spencer put on some Italian inspired station on for background music and you watched as he sped around the kitchen helping you, adding spices you didn’t even think of to the mix. The two of you filled the apartment in a blanket of enticing aromas. The pizzas looked almost professional.

“How is it that you’re a better cook than me, when your first choice of meal is a sugar coated breakfast pastry?” You teased him.

He smiled and looked down at the two large pizzas before him.

“Gideon used to teach me,” he answered softly. 

Gideon, the enigmatic mystery former-member of the team. You still only had snippets of his and Spencer’s relationship - little anecdotes here, some name mentions here - but nothing solid. You had even met the man at your wedding, and still felt like you were only skimming the surface of him like a flat rock, while Spencer had immersed himself in years of history.

“Well, he was a good teacher,” you said finally.

You remembered another time Spencer had cooked for you and you had asked his secret. He had not mentioned Gideon’s name then, and you wondered if it took this long to know this much, how much it must hurt him to talk about it.

Still, he seemed thrilled to have Gideon at the wedding, so you wondered whether or not it were the man himself, or something he represented that upset him.

Hotch was the first to arrive, ever the punctual man. He had brought wine, and you thanked him, placing it on the counter and opening it to let it breathe. 

Morgan came quickly after that, then JJ, and finally Penelope. Each brought something to the dinner. Morgan brought some beer, JJ brought you flowers, and Penelope brought you a chocolate cake.

With the flowers arranged as a centerpiece at your small kitchen table, you filled everyone’s glasses with their preferred beverage, pouring yourself only a glass of water.

Morgan toasted to your cooking once they had tasted the pizza, and you and Spencer nodded your thanks.

“This is delicious,” Hotch said as he finished his second piece. “Really, I should be treating you to such a dinner. I never truly thanked you for watching Jack.”

You saw your opening and you took it, smiling slyly as you grabbed Spencer’s hand.

“It was good practice,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. 

There was a silence at the table as the profilers assessed your choice of words. 

“Good practice,” Morgan repeated evenly, processing the words as if they were a foreign language. Then, after a pause and a gasp, “No way!”

You giggled and nodded. Hotch laughed a hearty, rich laugh; Penelope stared at Morgan, confused, until it hit her and she jumped up out of her chair and squealed; JJ smiled at you approvingly, and let out a small cheer.

Of course the meal was interrupted for hugs and congratulations. Every time the two of you took a step forward in your relationship, these marvelous people were right there with you, cheering you on.

“We just found out this afternoon, for sure,” you informed them, once everyone was seated and nibbling at the remnants of the pizzas.

Morgan nudged Spencer’s shoulder and grinned. You saw how different this was compared to Eric’s condescending push earlier. Here there was love - here, there was pride. 

“You son of a bitch,” Morgan said in a high voice. “I knew part of you had to be athletic.”

“What?” He laughed.

“Well, you have some strong swimmers,” Morgan laughed. 

JJ and Penelope rolled their eyes good-naturedly. 

“Do you think it’ll be a girl or a boy?” Penelope asked. “Is it too soon to suggest Penelope as a name for either?”

You chuckled.

“We haven’t even thought about it yet,” you admitted. 

“Well, you know what my vote for a name is,” Morgan chimed in.

You and Spencer shared a knowing look.

“What?” Morgan said with fake shock. 

“She said you’d say that,” Spencer laughed. 

“Maybe she’s a profiler now,” Morgan suggested. 

“I’ll stick to writing, thanks,” you decided.

“How is the next book coming along?” Hotch asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s coming,” you said. “It’s a little more violent than I had originally planned, but it’s pretty good. Or, at least, that’s what I think when I’m not constantly rewriting it,” you admitted.

“Is Morgan a horse again?” Penelope asked, giggling.

“That’s Pegasus to you, mama,” he pointed his finger and wagged it at her. 

“No,” you laughed. “None of you are in it this time. And any likeness in the previous book was purely coincidence,” you said sarcastically. 

“That’s true. If Morgan were in the book, he’d be a unicorn,” JJ teased.

“I could rock a horn,” Morgan said, appeased.

The night passed quickly, as it always seemed to with these people you loved. Around midnight, the team left, leaving you with their good wishes and plans to meet up again soon.

The following day, you and Spencer flipped a coin to decide who would call their parents first. Spencer won, and called his mother, who seemed overjoyed with the idea of a little Spencer running around. You were relieved, having not known his mother well enough to guess her reaction. He then called his father. It was straining, you could tell, but his father was thrilled as well and Spencer assured him he would see the child as often as he wished to visit. This surprised you, but also made you happy.

You were up next, and called your parents on a video call. They picked up after a few tries and you told them the news. You could see they were surprised to say the least, but they gave you their best wishes and invited you to stay with them for a few days when you were next available.

When you hung up, you looked at Spencer. Telling the others had given your news more weight. It almost seemed tangible now, even though the baby was just a clump of cells at the moment.

You let your hand slide to your stomach, feeling your soft skin under your shirt and smiling. There was life in there now - a life that you had created with the man you loved.

Spencer’s hand found its way to yours and he rested it atop your hand. You said nothing, but the moment swelled and roared, almost deafening with the possibilities beneath your hands.


	6. Chapter 6

The weeks went on, and life went back to its usual pace. You finished your book, and sent it to your publisher for a final look over before sending it out to the public. Spencer was called away on a few cases in a row, barely coming back for a day to rest before running to catch another bad guy. Part of you knew it was just his job right now, that someday soon he would stop and find something more grounded in where you chose to raise your family. Another part of you wondered if he wanted to. Was this too soon? Was he giving all of this up before he was meant to?

You worried over this in between emails to your publisher. The book had officially come out, and already was receiving rave reviews. It seemed to draw in the crowd from your previous book, as well as new, more adult readers. As the weeks went on, your friends and family read the book, sent you links of people’s fan club sits, blogs, even Youtube links of scenes they’d recreated. Truly, the response was overwhelming.

In the end,  your story ended up with a sort of meta feeling to it. The heroine was a writer who created a story, only to have the characters come to life. She had written that a villain kills six people in very specific, and gruesome, ways. Since she had already written it, she thought she would be able to stop the villain since she knew where he will go next, but she was always too late, and had to grieve over the dead bodies of the people she wrote to death. In the end she meets the villain when he has the seventh victim in his clutches. She vows to exchange places with the victim for both compensation for the others’ deaths, and because she needs to take the villain with her. She knew that when she died, he died. She dies, and, indeed, he dies, bringing back to life the people that had been killed.

Your friends and family loved the book, although you doubted if they would have told you otherwise. Spencer, of course, gave you his in depth analysis and highest praise, with the only critiques that it was too violent for his taste, and that the writer, who was so clearly you, died. You couldn’t blame him, the main villain killed six people in gruesome manners. Still, it was only fiction, and not as though you were actually murdering real people. As for the death of the writer, it seemed the only appropriate ending, and you were not bothered by it as he was.

Morgan was pleased that he was not a winged horse in this book, and you assured him that he and the team were not featured. Penelope said it was too scary for her, but she read the plot synopsis and said it sounded like a great story.

After the flux of cases, Spencer took a month off of work to be with you. He doted on you constantly, although you were only about a month into your first trimester at this point. You weren’t even showing yet, but he insisted that you rest, and not strain yourself. 

When you had asked, JJ confirmed that he had been the same way with her whenever he was around her while she was pregnant.

He followed you to work and hung out with you by the cash register while you checked out the customers, introducing you to all of them and letting them know the happy news. 

“Spence, they don’t all need to know I’m pregnant,” you had told him after the fifth customer in a row to congratulate you.

“Sorry,” he ran his hands through his hair nervously. “I’m just… excited.”

You had smiled and kissed him, only to roll your eyes when he told the next person in line. 

He bought you food constantly, at any time of the night. If you mentioned you were craving pickles at midnight, even just off hand, he would be up and running to get them for you despite your protests. 

Another month went by, and you had thought his attentions would lessen. Instead, he grew even more attentive, reading at least a book a day about parenting or pregnancy, and relating the facts to you in a dizzying amount.

Of course you were disappointed when his month was up, and he was called away on another case across the country. However, your publisher had arranged a book signing at your bookstore, and you were looking forward to it. Almost a thousand people had responded to the public invitation on Facebook that she had sent out, but she assured you, even more people would be stopping by. You feared that your little store would not be big enough, but she guaranteed that people would line up outside and wait for hours to see you.

You doubted this, but, as it turned out, she was right. The sheer number of people was overwhelming. Your publicist sat with you at a table you had set up at the front of the store, and you and signed book after book for your fans. It was surreal to say the least. When you wrote, you weren’t writing for fame or fortune, you were just writing for you. The fact that these people appreciated it, and took the time out of their lives not only to read your words, but to come and meet you, was unfathomable.

Complete strangers of almost all ages were confessing their love for you and your work. There were the usual fans, some with what looked like homemade t-shirts, who were simply in love with the story. Then, there were the scarier fans, who tried to convey to you their undying love for you. 

You had expected mostly women to show up, as the book centered around a female heroine and had more of a feminist feel to it than the last book. To your delight, however, more men showed up and commented on the empowering qualities of the story. The men were more reserved in their admiration, as if they were shy or embarrassed of their admiration for the book, but you didn’t mind. You signed each one in kind.

The only hitch was when your publisher pulled some chocolate out of her pocket for a snack, and you almost vomited on the man’s book you were signing. She saw your face go green and cocked her head to the side.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Chocolate’s bad this month. Stupid pregnancy,” you mumbled. 

She put the chocolate away, however, and your body returned to normal. It was the only downside to the pregnancy so far: sometimes your favorite foods made you nauseous even to think about.

The rest of the signing went on, and you were forced to cut a few people off. The signing had gone on nearly the whole day, and you were exhausted. You tried to keep your ego in check, but you let yourself revel in the fact that over a thousand people had come to see you. Usually, you couldn't get more than three acquaintances to drop by. It felt good to be admired and liked.

As the months went on, it seemed that the criminals of the world were conspiring against you. Spencer was away more than usual, and you were left alone to work and hang out alone. Your parents came up for a weekend and took care of you as if you were sick, tending to your every need, but they couldn’t stay too long, and ended up missing Spencer entirely. 

Whenever the team happened to be back, you always made a point of showing up to the office to see them. They had all wanted signed copies of your book as well, and you felt honored that they thought so highly of your writing. Even Penelope asked for one, despite her aversion to the violence. They just wanted to support you, which warmed you to the core.

Every few weeks, when you managed to see the team for lunch or at the end of the day, you were always greeted with eyes that drifted to your growing stomach. To you, it was a gradual progression. You noticed the stretching in your pants, and felt your stomach inflating, causing shirts to ride up, but it was all in small increments, easy to adjust to. When Spencer saw you after a week or two, or when the team saw you a few weeks apart, they were always blow away by the progress. Everyone told you that you were glowing, and sometimes it did feel that way. Other times it felt like you were a giant mess. You couldn’t help feeling a little body conscious sometimes, and ran your hands over stomach, remembering why you were this shape right now. The feeling would go away soon after imagining what it would be like to hold your little boy or girl in a few months.

You were about five months in when Spencer finally got a week off. He massaged your feet with a method he had learned from books from China. You laid in bed with him as he laid his hand on your stomach, waiting for a kick. When it came, although he had felt them many times before, he always let out of squeak of surprise like it was the first time. He also insisted on putting headphones on your stomach and playing classical music. When he wasn’t looking you would sometimes switch it to The Beatles, Nat King Cole, or your other favorite musicians.

Laying in bed one night, with Spencer’s head resting on your chest, looking down at your stomach, you realized you hadn’t thought of any baby names.

“What if it’s a girl?” You asked. “What would you want for a name?”

He sat up to look at you, and bit his lip in thought.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not sure any name is good enough.”

“I know,” you agreed. Then, quietly, “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

The question had been sitting in the back of your mind for months - a dark figure whose presence you never completely shed. Spencer took your hand and pressed his lips to the back of it.

“I think you’ll be the best,” he said. You sighed, knowing this would be his opinion, but feeling relieved to hear it anyway. “Why would you doubt it?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m young and stupid. What if I mess something up?”

He shook his head.

“Your natural instinct is a lot stronger than you think,” he said. “Plus, you’re you.”

He added this last part as if it explained everything. When you didn’t respond, he sensed your confusion and elaborated. 

“You’re you,” he repeated. “You’re the woman who fought off not one, but two serial killers with just her words. You’re the woman who has saved my life in countless ways. You’re the woman who will be the most caring and selfless mother the world has ever know.”

You heard his genuine tone, and let the words seep into your skin.

“Well, even if that is not true, he will at least have a wonderful father,” you said softly.

Spencer blushed and looked down at the sheets.

“Do you think so?” He asked.

“Of course,” you said. “Can you imagine the science projects the two of you will cook up?” You laughed. “Volcanoes up the wazoo.”

He chuckled, and then turned serious.

“I’m resigning from the BAU,” he said. “I’m going to give them my notice in a few weeks.”

You gasped softly, having not expected this so soon. Your fears of his leaving his work flooded back and you suddenly felt guilty. Not only were you the reason he was giving up a job he loved, you might also be preventing the saving of future victims by keeping Spencer to yourself.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

He nodded.

“I’ll teach recruits,” he said. You chuckled at the thought. “What?” He asked, smiling.

“Just the thought of you teaching a bunch of youths how to profile,” you answered. “It’s amusing.”

“You don’t think I could do it?” He asked.

“I think you could do it,” you said, joking aside. “I just hope none of the girls get a crush on Professor Reid,” you teased him.

“That’s Doctor Reid,” he said in a mock authoritative tone. 

You giggled and brushed a piece of hair behind his ear.

“Would you be happy?” You asked seriously. He nodded.

“My work is important,” he said. “But you and this baby are my world.”

You nodded, but were unconvinced. You hoped that he was telling the truth, you hoped that he did in fact want to teach. You tried not to think about the potential victims. You knew that one day he would have retired anyway, and they would have been without him, but you felt almost personally responsible for it since you were the reason for his leaving. 

You tried to focus on the happiness you felt. Spencer would be around all the time soon. He would be there for you and your child. He would see their first steps, hear their first words. He would be there with you every night, holding you, filling you up with love. No more nights of empty beds. No more early morning and late night phone calls. No more dinners alone. It seemed almost too good to be true, and part of you was waiting for it all to fall apart in a moment. 


	7. Chapter 7

Although he had handed in his resignation letter to Hotch, Spencer still had almost a month left to work at the BAU. The team wanted to hang onto him, of course, but they also understood the necessity of his presence at home. Hotch especially understood, and encouraged the decision, giving you a small amount of reassurance.

Spencer left for a case one week, and you wondered if it would be the last. The thought that Spencer wouldn’t be a profiler anymore was strange. You knew the team would still call him to consult, and you hoped that him living here permanently didn’t dissolve any of the friendships between all of you. You knew that teaching would suit him, although he would most likely need an adjustment period like anything else.

You had started to get worried, because Spencer hadn’t called the whole day. Usually, even when he was busy, he would call and check in, or at least send a text. Especially since you got pregnant, he had been on the phone with you so much, you wondered if he were actually working at all. Thus the strangeness of the absence of calls unnerved you. You were going to call him but didn’t want to interrupt anything if he were onto something big.

A little after dinner, you heard a knock at the door. You wondered if Spencer had come home early to surprise you, but he wouldn’t have knocked, would he have? The second thought that something had happened to Spencer quickly flitted in your mind, but the team would have called you, right?

As the possibilities ran through your mind, you walked slowly to the door. Peering through the peephole, you stood back, unsure if you had seen correctly. You verified by looking a second  time, and opened the door slowly.

“Gideon,” you greeted.

His wrinkled face was pulled together in concern. His forehead creased and his lips pulled together in a thin, narrow, line. His hands were clasped in front of him, wringing themselves in a similar manner as Spencer did when he was nervous. He wore a dress shirt and pants.

“Hello,” he greeted you evenly.

You moved aside and gestured to the apartment.

“Come in,” you said. 

There was something in the air between you. Gideon wouldn’t stop by for no reason, and your apprehension was as thick as smoke. 

“How far along?” He asked, glancing at your growing belly. His eyes were soft, and his voice was lighter than his greeting had been.

“About six months,” you answered. 

He nodded and smiled.

“Almost there,” he said. 

He seemed at home already, although he hadn’t been to your apartment before as far as you knew. He leaned against the couch with his hands on the back of it. He seemed to be assessing you, but not in the way that Spencer usually did. His gaze was more subtle. He could have just been scanning the air. You could tell that he was reading you, trying to decide something.

“Spencer hasn’t called yet,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What?” You asked. “No, I haven’t heard from him all day, is something wrong?”

Gideon sighed and stood up off of the couch, reaching out for your hand.

“We should sit down,” he said.

Although it was clearly not good news, somehow his voice calmed you.

“Is Spencer alright?” You asked, your voice a little shaky.

“Of course,” he said. “He’s fine, the team’s fine.”

You sighed with relief. The two of you sat down on the couch and he did not let go of your hand. His hands were calloused and nicked with scratches. They were also warm and comforting.

“There’s been a murder in Seattle,” he said. “A poisoning.”

“That’s terrible,” you responded, confused why this warranted an explanation from a man who lived in the middle of nowhere. 

“And there was a note,” he added. A dim light clicked on somewhere in the back of your mind.

“A note?” You asked. He nodded. 

“Love and kisses,” he quoted.

Your blood ran cold. That murder, that note… That was the first murder in your book. Gideon watched your reaction carefully, cocking his head a little to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Spencer said he would call to tell you I was coming, but it appears he forgot,” Gideon said casually. 

Your breath was ragged, and you gripped his hands tighter.

“Someone murdered a person based on my book?” You confirmed.

Gideon nodded, a frown spreading on his lips.

“And it’s not the only death in the book, correct?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“There’s six - seven,” you corrected yourself. “The writer dies at the end.”

“They are going to need you to come out with them,” Gideon said softly. If he had used any other tone to tell you all of this information, you would have lost it completely.

You nodded, not quite through the numbness that had set upon you like frostbite.

“Seven,” you mumbled. “Six, and then me.”

“We’ll catch him before he kills again,” Gideon tried to reassure you.

“Let’s go,” you said. 

“The jet is waiting for us,” Gideon said.

“The private jet?” You asked, surprised. 

He nodded. There wasn’t any time to be wasted. Your phone rang suddenly, and you jumped, pulling your hands from Gideon’s. It was Spencer, and you answered with shaking hands.

“Don’t freak out, but Gideon is--”

“I know,” you interrupted him, raising from the couch. “He just told me.”

“Oh,” was all Spencer said before he could recover.

“It’s all my fault,” you felt the words tumble out. 

You heard Gideon stand and walk behind you, giving you space, but being there if you needed him as well.

“It’s not at all,” Spencer assured you. “We just want you out here to protect you, and to use your insight on the book to help us catch him before he kills again.”

You nodded, keeping your mouth shut in case a sob escaped. The information had hit you, but its effects had been delayed. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you managed to say before hanging up.

You turned to Gideon with your eyes brimming, an incredible sense of guilt welling up in your chest. The poison in the book had been Strychnine, a pesticide that causes extremely painful muscle convulsions and asphyxiation - a horrible and prolonged way to die. You had written that upon someone. Gideon opened his arms before you fled to them, taking you in and holding tightly. You fit just under his chin, but your protruding stomach only allowed his arms to wrap a little ways around you.

After a few moments, you were able to collect yourself. You sniffled and pulled away from Gideon, conscious of his intense gaze. He let his hands rest on your shoulders until he was sure you were okay, then tucked his hands neatly in his pockets.

“I’ll just grab a few things,” you said meekly, both of you managing not to acknowledge what had just passed. 

Packing a bag with a few changes of clothes, your natal vitamins, and a copy of your book, you were ready to go in less than five minutes. Gideon had been waiting patiently where you left him, and neither of you spoke as you exited your apartment.

Gideon got into a waiting SUV, and you followed, vaguely wondering how many identical cars the Bureau had. You drove in silence to the tarmac, and got out of the car to walk to the waiting jet. It was a large white plane with an FBI insignia on the tail. It was small, and you wondered if it would be like those puddle jumper planes. You doubted it as you entered the jet, seeing the comfortable leather couches and seats that made up the main portion of the fuselage. 

You slid into one of the arm chairs and strapped yourself in. The leather creaked beneath you. It didn’t seem too worn in, but it was comfortable. You set your bag on the chair beside you, and Gideon sat across from you. He looked out the window at first, and you tried to as well. The runway sped by, blurring the yellow lines, and eventually leaving the ground behind in favor of touching the sky.

It would be a few hours until you reached Seattle, and you sat, shifting in your seat, wondering if your sheer will power could make the plane go faster.

“I know this won’t help, but try not to be anxious,” Gideon said smoothly. 

You moved your gaze from the window to his eyes. If he were just a few years older, you would have considered him a grandfather type figure. As it were, he seemed too wise, and his eyes too heavy to be concealed in a body his age.

“Can’t help feeling like it’s my fault, even though I know it’s not,” you admitted.

“You’d be surprised what a few deep breaths will do to calm you,” he said. “And I think right now, that’s what he needs,” he said, pointing to your stomach.

“Oh, we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl,” you said, relieved for a subject other than the case right now.

“It’s boy,” Gideon nodded, smiling a little.

“How can you tell?” You laughed a little.

“I can tell,” he said mysteriously, and definitively.

He closed his eyes then, and leaned his head back against the headrest, taking a few deep breaths. Whether this was to inspire you to do the same, or to comfort himself for something, you weren’t sure, but you followed suit and breathed in deeply.

Whether you were more successful at meditation than you anticipated, or the falloff of adrenaline was faster than you expected, you actually managed to sleep for a few hours. When you woke up, there was an FBI blanket draped around you. Gideon was gone from his seat, and you sat up to look around for him. The door to the cabin where the pilot sat was open, and as you leaned over, you could see Gideon speaking softly with her. He must have heard you rustling and turned his head, saying a final comment to the pilot before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

He walked over to you and sat back down in his seat. 

“We’ll be arriving in a half hour,” he informed you.

You stood, realizing that all that time sleeping had filled your bladder. Gideon reached for your forearm and held you, supporting you in case the jet were to change direction or altitude. He guided you to the bathroom and then helped you back after you were done. You said almost nothing to each other as you descended into Seattle. Although not much had passed between you verbally, you had the feeling that he knew more about you than your own mother did. Whether or not he approved or enjoyed what he found, he didn’t let on. 

From the jet, you were taken to another SUV and shipped to the Seattle Police Department. The ground was damp, and the windshield wipers made their way lazily across the windshield to wipe away the mist that fell. It was colder here than you’d anticipated, but you wrapped your coat around you and were fine. 

Their station was large, and had many rooms, most with officers and civilians bustling in and out of them. The fluorescent lights were dimly green, casting an almost sickly glow upon everything. In a room near the back, through a wide window, you saw the team convened around a table. For a moment you were transported back in time to your visit to Spencer in Montana. It had been simpler then. 

Gideon met with an officer on the side while you waited to be led to the team. The officer showed you past the main desk and into the conference room where the team was assembled. The room was large, but sparsely furnished. The space was taken up largely by a table, where four copies of your book, and two laptops lay. The left wall was home to a large tack board, where pictures of the poisoned victim and a few maps hung. There were chairs strewn about the room, but all the agents were standing.

Although you knew it would never happen, you half expected the team to look at you accusingly, angrily, and with contempt. Of course, they only greeted you with sympathetic smiles and open arms. Spencer came to you first and pulled you to him, letting you bury your head in the crook of his neck. You forced yourself not to cry, and were successful. His hand slipped down to your stomach, gently passing over it, as though confirming that you were still pregnant.

The rest of the team greeted you and Gideon in turn, and once the pleasantries were dispersed, your heart fell, realizing you were truly going to have to deal with this.

A cold sweat settled on your skin as you took your seat facing the board with the picture of the man you had essentially sentenced to death. Spencer took a seat next to you and slid his hand into yours.

They relayed the particulars to you, sparing no detail. But of course, you already knew the details. You knew that the poison was administered through food, that the muscles would have contorted into the mangled body you saw in the photos, that the victim would have been an elderly woman in her own home, that the note would have been written in her blood, taken post mortem from a small cut on the neck. You knew all this, of course, because you had written it. You felt yourself put up a wall before they could hit you with the details. The information bounced off, the wall protecting you from breaking down completely.

You looked at the photo they had pulled from her driver’s license. She had kind eyes and laugh lines.

“(Y/N),” you heard Hotch’s voice break through the fog. “Did you hear me?” He asked gently.

“Sorry,” you shook your head, feeling faint. “I guess not.”

Hotch’s lips formed a thin line which then turned downwards into a frown. You felt bad disappointing him, but you also couldn’t have forced yourself to listen if you had tried. After a moment, he repeated himself.

“I just asked you to relay what you believed to be the villain’s motives in your novel. It’s possible that your interpretation and writing of this character are similar to the character of our unsub.

“Oh,” you said, looking at your hands. 

Your fingers laced with Spencer seemed wrong here. That warmth, that love didn’t belong in this room. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to separate from him.

“The villain,” you repeated. 

It felt like you were in elementary school, giving a report on a book you hadn’t read. But you had read this book. You’d written it. And that made it somehow harder.

“Well, the idea was sort of the personification of those ideas that we always want to write, but never do,” you explained. “Like when you get really excited about a character, but you never put them into any story. So this one escaped, and decided to make his own story.”

They nodded, apparently in confirmation of what they’d already assumed.

“Is there anything about his motivation, something that might help us with his background?” Morgan asked. His voice was tentative, as if he were afraid any louder decibel would shatter you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “In my head he was from the Midwest, was abused as a child, and had a fear of the dark, but I never put that in my writing, so I doubt that would help you.”

He nodded. Something shot through you as your brain managed to think forwards for a moment.

“What about the next ones?” You asked. “We’re not in Maryland. I based it there. The next kill happens in a park, but obviously not the one in Maryland if everything’s happening here, right?” You pressed.

“Right,” Hotch answered. “We believe he is recreating it in Seattle. It must have some significance to him. From the organization and premeditation of the crime, we can assume he’s killed before, so it’s possible Seattle is significant to him in that way, or perhaps he was born here.”

“But we’re not going to let it get that far,” Morgan said decidedly. “We’ll catch him before he kills again.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it wouldn’t budge. Your stomach weighed heavily, as if you’d swallowed tar. 

“Well, why don’t you and Gideon go get settled in the hotel, and we’ll call you if we need you, okay?” Hotch said. It wasn’t so much a request, as an instruction with a polite inflection.

You simply nodded and felt Spencer stand beside you, helping you up from your chair. Gideon trailed behind you as Spencer led you outside to a waiting car. 

“I have to stay here,” he said, his voice strained. “But Gideon will protect you.”

You nodded, seeing Gideon just exiting the police station. 

“I wish I could have helped more,” you apologized. Spencer shook his head and kissed your forehead.

“You did wonderfully,” he promised. 

Gideon walked to the car and opened the door for you. You glanced at Spencer.

“I’ll be there tonight,” he answered your unvoiced question.

He kissed you, although it felt as though he kissed a shell. You were hiding somewhere inside yourself now. Somewhere where the guilt couldn’t crush you completely. You drove in silence for a while, Gideon’s chin resting between his thumb and forefinger, poised in thought.

“All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you: the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer,” he quoted solemnly. 

You turned your gaze slowly to him. He was looking at you with eyes you couldn’t read. 

“Who said that?” You asked, not up to guessing.

“Hemingway,” he gave a hint of a smile.

“Are you trying to say I’m not a writer?” You asked.

“Why do you say that?” He countered.

“Clearly this man didn’t feel that this book was true. He wants to make the events really happen.”

Gideon shook his head.

“This man is doing this because you are a great writer,” he said. You cocked an eyebrow, confused. “He can’t feel all the ecstasy, remorse, and sorrow. He wants to. He knows he should be able to, but he just can’t. He’s recreating it in real life to try and find that emotion that he craves, because he knows it’s in there, in the writing. And he’s never felt something like that before. He can’t let it go now.”

For a moment, you came out of your shell. You let him praise you in this haphazard and tainted way. But then you remembered what would happen next. More death.

“He won’t stop,” you said quietly, your voice void of emotion. Gideon shook his head.

“No,” he agreed.

His voice was even, but not distant like yours. He had done this many times.

“There’s two at once next. And I can’t help them,” you whispered.

Gideon didn’t say anything, but he held his hand out to you, palm up, in between the seat that separated you. You looked at it for a moment. A few small scars were sprinkled on the edges of his hands, the palms worn with callouses. This was a hand that had seen many men who would not stop. This was a hand that had held sorrow, remorse, and maybe even ecstasy at times. You took it and he squeezed lightly. You turned your attention back out the window for the remainder of the ride to the hotel, and said nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

The anxious knocking at your door woke you from a heavy sleep. Your head felt heavy as you lifted it from the pillow to glance at the door. The hall light was on, but no light came through the windows. A look over to the clock told you it was the middle of the night. Rising, you answered the door.

It was Gideon, dressed in different clothes from the day before. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, slowly growing concerned. You just realized Spencer hadn’t come to the room last night. “Is Spencer hurt?” You asked.

“No, no. They’re still at the station,” he said. 

“Oh,” you felt your heartbeat relax a little. “Then what?”

Gideon looked at you, and you just knew.

“It’s happened,” you said. “He’s killed them.”

You knew from his expression that you were correct. You had written that a couple got stabbed in a park. Viciously stabbed. Why did you have to be so graphic in this book? 

You hurriedly got changed and followed Gideon to the car. You raced to the station to find that the team had not yet returned from the crime scene and morgue. You waited anxiously for them, pacing back and forth until Gideon convinced you to sit down and drink some water.

You knew that all this stress was not good for the baby. It dawned on you that although you had always thought it would be Spencer’s job causing the danger, it was in fact yours that put you all in jeopardy.

The team arrived almost a half hour after you had. Spencer was first through the door, running to wrap his arms around you. You let him, although you were still mostly numb again and could feel neither shock or comfort. After whispering words of comfort that you only half heard, Spencer led you into the conference room and the team filed in behind you. Although you weren’t a hundred percent present, you were sharply aware of Gideon’s presence. You could feel his quiet authority, his watchful eyes on you.

The agents took a seat, and Hotch walked towards the board, tacking up a few new pictures of the most recent killings. You noted they must have spared you the more graphic pictures of the wounds, because most of the pictures were less bloody than you had prepared yourself to face. Hotch finished hanging the pictures and turned to Spencer.

“Would you care to fill her in?” He asked solemnly.

Spencer turned to you, and you looked down, finding he had grabbed your hand at some point. You tried to focus on what was happening in front of you instead of drifting into the void, thinking in circles about the people who you had murdered.

“There was a difference this time,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Last time, except for the precise location, he mimicked the entire scene, down to every last detail of the book.”

You glanced up from your hands to look at him. You hardly needed a reminder.

“But this time, he deviated. Just a little.”

“Of course Wonder Lad here didn’t even need to look back at the book to notice,” Morgan said with a half-hearted grin.

“What was the difference?” You asked.

“Two words,” he said. He turned his attention to the picture of the note Hotch had placed on the board. “The unsub left a note reading, ‘You’re missing all the fun. They certainly screamed like babies, but you didn’t hear them. Will you hear the next one?’”

Shivers ran down your spine, but you shook your head.

“Isn’t that what I wrote?” You asked.

“No,” he said, almost excited. “You wrote, ‘You’re missing all the fun. They certainly screamed, but you didn’t hear them. Will you hear the next one?’ There was no comparison to a baby.”

“So?” You asked.

“So, he added that in there to get to you, to grab your attention,” Hotch answered evenly.

“Why would that grab my attention?” You asked. 

The team looked at each other uncomfortably, sharing something you were not privy to. When no one would step forward, Gideon’s voice cut through the silence.

“Who knows that you’re pregnant?” He asked.

You turned to look at him, confused.

“Have you posted on social media?” He continued.

“Just family and friends,” you said. “I made sure no one posted anything. I don’t like the internet having that kind of information.”

Gideon nodded. 

“So no one knew, except your friends and family,” he confirmed. “And yet, ‘like babies,’ was the phrase he chose to insert.”

Your blood ran cold. You read on the team’s faces that this was what they were scared of. 

“He knows I’m pregnant,” you said calmly. “Somehow, he knows.”

Gideon nodded and took the seat next to you.

“Is it possibly you’ve told anyone else?” He asked. 

“No,” you shook your head. “He couldn’t have known unless he’s been stalking me since I’ve been showing… which hasn’t been long.”

“We don’t believe he would have had time to plan this and stalk you across the country,” Hotch said. 

“Then how would he know?” You felt your voice tremble in your throat, threatening to break like glass under pressure.

The team was at a loss to explain that to you. 

“If we knew, it might help us find him,” Hotch said. “This might have been why he started killing.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Often when an unsub has an obsessive personality like this, when the object of their obsession has a change in their lives, something the unsub perceives will threaten the work or what they love about the object, they will blame it. In this case, he believes your pregnancy will get in the way of your writing. He wants to show you what your work truly means to him,” Spencer explained. 

You had to remind yourself to breathe.

“That’s insane,” you muttered. No one argued.

There was a silence until Hotch spoke.

“Is there any chance that you mentioned your pregnancy to someone? Or that someone from the bookstore would know you and post something about you somewhere?” He asked.

“I don’t know, maybe,” you said. You had no idea who paid attention to you at work.

Morgan pulled out his phone and put it on speaker.

“You’ve reached the Hot N’ Bothered station, how can I help you, chocolate listener?” Penelope’s voice almost brought a smile to your face. 

“Hey baby girl,” Morgan answered. “I need you to do a search on all social media sites, fan sites, and anything else you can think of for a mention of (Y/N)’s pregnancy.”

“Sure, sure, gimme a second and I will hit you back.”

The line clicked off and you waited for a few moments in silence. She called back not long after.

“Yeah, baby, what you got?”

“I got nothing,” she said, dejected. “No mentions of her pregnancy.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said, hanging up.

“So maybe it was a coincidence?” JJ asked. 

“The odds are highly unlikely,” Spencer said. He took a breath, about to convey a statistic, no doubt, but Gideon interrupted.

“So it must have been in person then,” he said. 

You felt the pressure on you. Although not everyone was looking at you, the energy in the room was all pointed your way.

“I have no idea,” you sighed. “I barely remember what I had for breakfast.”

“We’ll check with your parents, and see if they told anyone. Other than that, try to think back to any unusual encounters, possibly with fans,” Hotch said. 

You nodded, sure that you wouldn’t be able to help at all. Not for the first time, you were envious of Spencer’s memory. If you could just remember every little interaction you had, you’d be able to save lives. But here you were, forgetful, and unable to help anyone.

Spencer led you out of the room and the two of you walked outside for some air. You hugged your coat around you and dipped your head, staring at the ground.

“We’ll find him,” Spencer whispered, standing hesitantly back from you.

“How?” You asked. 

His eyes searched your face, as if he might find the answers there, but then he bit his lip and sighed. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He looked at you a moment longer and added, “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” you said. And you did  _ know, _ but that’s not how it  _ felt. _

Spencer stepped lightly in your direction, as if any reverberation from his movement would shatter you. Did you really look so fragile? He wrapped his arms around you.

Neither of you said anything as you stood there. You counted your breath, timing each one to be even and smooth. After a few minutes, you were almost in a meditative state. Spencer was wrapped around you, and you leaned on him. You opened your eyes at the sound of Gideon’s voice behind you.

“Excuse me,” he said quietly, respectively.

Spencer unhooked his arms from around you in favor of taking your hand as you turned to see Gideon. He stood before you confidently, with a hint of excitement in his eyes.

“I might have a way to help you remember,” he said.

You glanced at Spencer and then back at him. 

“How?” You asked, ready to try just about anything.

“A cognitive interview,” he said. 

You looked at Spencer when Gideon offered no further explanation. 

“The participant is asked to mentally revisit the to-be-remembered event. The interviewer may ask them to form a mental picture of the environment in which they witnessed the event. This picture could include the placement of objects such as windows or furniture, the lighting, or even the temperature. The participant is also asked to revisit their personal mental state during the event and then describe it in detail. The purpose of this process is to increase the feature overlap between initial witnessing and subsequent retrieval contexts. The foundation of the cognitive interview is rooted in several well researched facts about human memory. Research has shown that memory deteriorates over time. This indicates that the more time that passes between initial encoding and subsequent retrieval the less likely accurate recall will be,” he recited for you. 

“So like hypnosis?” You asked. 

Spencer crinkled his nose and shook his head.

“No, this is less suggestive,and more likely to result in accurate memories. People are very suggestible under hypnosis, and usually misremember.”

“Well, not always,” Gideon interjected with a knowing look at Spencer.

When you looked at him quizzically, Spencer simply whispered, “Riley.”

It occurred to you that if Gideon knew about this, assisted Spencer with that memory retrieval, it may help explain his attachment to the man.

“So just… thinking really hard?” You asked.

Gideon’s lips showed the shadow of a smile.

“Yes,” he said. “In a way.”

“And you’d conduct the interview?” You asked Gideon.

“Unless you have any objections,” he said. You didn’t. 

You glanced at Spencer for confirmation of this idea. You trusted his judgement on this more than your own. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” he said. “Even though it might have been months since the incident, it could still help us, you never know.”

You looked at him for a moment. You allowed yourself this one luxury in all the madness surrounding you. The way the sun hit his hair was mesmerizing. He had started to grow it out again, and you couldn’t help but run your hand through it, running the strands through your fingers.

“Okay,” you said simply. “Let’s do it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Gideon sat across from you in the dark office. The police had let you into the office of a detective who had recently left. He had gestured to the comfortable chair in the corner of the room, and, as you dragged it closer to the other office chair, closed the blinds to the windows in the room. 

He took a seat across from you, settling down easily in his chair and taking a deep breath. You tried to breathe deeply as well, but found it was hard to do so with your heart fluttering nervously in your chest. The weight of the next victim hung over you.

“Relax,” Gideon said, folding his hands in his lap. 

You laughed nervously. 

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you said. 

“Let’s just start by closing your eyes,” he said. 

You did as you were asked, and as you closed your eyelids, your body relaxed into the chair. You could hear the murmuring of the police officers outside the thick, wooden, doors. You could hear the hum of the heater behind you. 

“Good,” you heard Gideon say. “Now, a few deep breaths. In,” he waited a few seconds. “Out,” he said finally.

He repeated this until you were quite a bit more relaxed. 

“Alright, let’s just start with something simple. When is the most recent time you have interacted with someone who knew your work?” He asked.

You mind fluttered, thinking back through the last few months. Most people didn’t know who you were at work. It wasn’t your name on the storefront, it was Walter’s. Fans didn’t really reach out to you in person, more on social media, which your publicist usually managed.

The last time you could remember anyone talking to you about your book was the book signing. 

“The book signing,” you said. “Months ago.”

Gideon took a moment to think about this, and then continued. 

“That seems like a likely place, given the time and the access to you,” he said, sounding hopeful. “Let’s start there. Think back to that month. You were early on in your pregnancy, what was that like?” He asked. 

“Nausea,” you laughed. “I threw up a bit at the beginning.”

“Were you showing yet?” He asked.

You shook your head. 

“Not really, no.”

“Okay, let’s focus more on the event. How long did it last? What was the weather like?”

You described as much as you could, trying to recall anything that would help build the picture in your mind. A few of the fans who had said strange things came back to you, but most were female, and none had said anything that had sounded too out of the ordinary.

He kept asking about details of the setting, and the image became clearer in your mind, as if the fog from a window into your memory had been blown away. 

“Did you mention your pregnancy to anyone?” He asked expectantly.

You ran through the day, trying to think about anything that you could have done or said that would have been revealing. 

“The chocolate,” you said, surprising yourself. “My publicist took out chocolate and the scent made me nauseous.”

You heard the creak in the chair as Gideon leaned forwards. 

“What did you say?”

“I said something like, ‘Stupid morning sickness, or stupid pregnancy,” you realized.

“And who would have been in front of the line to hear that?” He asked.

In your memory, you turned from your publicist to the front of the line. It was a man. He looked ordinary enough, and you were just about to write his name down for the autograph. 

“I don’t know,” you said. “Some guy.”

“Think about your hands,” he said. “What were you holding? A pen? The book?”

You nodded.

“I had my pen, about to sign the book. I asked him what his name was.”

“And what did he say?” He asked. 

You gritted your teeth, trying hard not to lose your focus at such a crucial point.

“Um… L something,” you said. “I remember it being one of those names, where you think, ‘Huh, I should use that in a story someday.’”

“L,” he repeated. “What shapes did your pen make? Loops? Did you cross T’s or dot I’s?” He asked.

“No,” you said. You focused all your energy on making yourself remember. Your hand moved across the paper in the memory. The man’s lips moved, making the letters for you. And then, it happened. “Larry Ingram,” you said. “I remember because I made a quick background in my head. He was an accountant from Iowa with a nervous habit of cleaning under his nails.”

It came back to you because you had chosen to wrap this man into one of your stories. You hadn’t known then, that he was already a part of one.

You opened your eyes and saw Gideon looking at you, his eyes gleaming. 

“And you believe this is the only time you mentioned your pregnancy?” He confirmed. 

You nodded. 

“I didn’t feel sick or anything the rest of the day, and like you said, I wasn’t showing, so no.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, and hoped that this would actually be helpful.

“You did wonderfully,” Gideon said softly. He was looking at you with an almost fatherly approval. You felt good, and not just because you might have helped find this man, but because Gideon believed in you, and you had proven him right.

“Let’s go find the team,” he said. 

He rose from his chair and helped you out of yours. As your stomach grew, getting up was becoming a full on workout, so you were grateful for his help. He left his hand in yours for a moment, and you felt a little squeeze as he looked at you. You smiled at him, allowing yourself this one little victory, and followed him outside.

Spencer popped up immediately from the desk he had been leaning on as he bit his nails. He walked swiftly over to you, watching you for any sign as to what had been accomplished. 

“Larry Ingram,” Gideon said for you. 

Spencer grabbed his phone and speed dialed Penelope. He simultaneously wrapped one arm around you and kissed the top of your head as the phone rang. 

“What can I do for you, my magnanimous prince?” You heard her greeting.

“Garcia, run the name Larry Ingram through the system. Anyone who matches the age of the profile and lives in the area currently.”

“Running,” you heard her say. There was a pause as you waited. Spencer motioned for the team to congregate as he put the phone on speaker.

“Two Larry Ingram’s in the Seattle area matching the age range,” she said. 

“Either have a record?” He asked. 

“One has a restraining order against him,” she reported. “Oh, and the other apparently has been in Nevada for the past few months in rehab.”

“Send us the address of the former,” Spencer requested.

“Will do,” she said before hanging up.

The team looked at you with the same sort of pride that Gideon had. It wasn’t as though you’d found him and convicted the man yet, so you weren’t sure why they were so happy.

Seeing your confusion, Morgan stepped forward.

“It’s likely that this Larry Ingram with the restraining order is our man. His obsessive behavior was bound to come up in the past, and the restraining order is likely evidence of someone he was obsessed with before you.”

Something inside you begged for him to be right, but another part was still clutching to the guilt. Even if he was the man, you’d still created this scenario.

“We’ll go to the media and put out a BOLO,” Hotch said in a tone that informed everyone it was time to break up and get to work on finding this man.

The team dispersed, and Spencer squeezed your hand before running off with Morgan to go to the suspect’s address. While he assured you the man was not likely to be there, you still couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach like churning tar.

Gideon stayed with you, watching you carefully as if he thought you might melt if he didn’t.

“I’m fine,” you assured his unspoken concerns.

He lifted his brows and pursed his lips, folding his hands in his lap.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” he said.

You sighed. 

“I’m not fine,” you conceded. He nodded. 

Gideon stood and offered his hand to you. 

“Come on,” he said. You took his hand and glanced at him quizzically. “We’re going for a walk.”

His tone allowed for no argument, and you thought it might be a way to shed some of the nerves from your body. You allowed him to help you up, teetering as you did with your growing stomach.

You strolled outside and into the evening air. It was cool, chilly almost, but you didn’t mind. It refreshed you. You walked slowly with Gideon and said nothing for a long time. 

“You’re going to tell me it’s not my fault,” you accused him.

Gideon sighed and you listened to his footfalls on the ground. While yours were cumbersome and heavy, his were sure and steady.

“People kill in the name of religion, in the name of love, in the name of hate,” he said. “It’s not the reason that matters, it’s the act. You and your book are no more to blame than any other. People kill because of demons inside them, not because of ink on a page.”

You considered this. Although it didn’t completely calm the waters of doubt, it did soothe the waves a bit.

Gideon’s phone rang, breaking the silent reverie that you’d fallen into. He picked it up and answered quickly.

“We’ll be right there,” he said and hung up. 

“What is it?” You asked, feeling the hairs on your neck stand up. 

“They found him.”


	10. Chapter 10

Sirens sounded around you, muffled by the bulletproof windows that encompassed you, Gideon, and two policemen. It felt surreal. You gripped Gideon’s hand tightly as the car swerved in and out of traffic, frantically making its way downtown to the scene that awaited you. 

After you had been picked up, the policemen had informed you that the suspect had been spotted in a park just outside Seattle. A policeman had attempted to arrest him, but he’d taken a woman hostage, drawing a knife from his belt, and causing the policeman to step away as he called for backup.

As it stood, the team was heading to the scene, and you were along for the ride. Despite your worries about the effects of stress on the baby, you were sure your presence would be vital to talking this man down before he took another life. Before you knew it, you had arrived on scene. A line had been formed to keep the public back, but still there were those individuals who were trying to snap a picture or grab a video on their phones. News trucks were sprinkled around the perimeter with intense-looking journalists ready to give the gory details. In center stage was the man and his hostage. As you got out of the car and walked closer, you could see the team on the very edge of the situation. They were standing inside the line, but not yet engaging the unsub. They all turned to face you as you broke through the throngs of people. You didn’t dare look at Larry or the hostage yet. You were barely keeping it together as it were. 

Spencer took you in his arms and held you. Against his chest, you realized you were shaking. He kissed the top of your head and you took a few deep breaths. 

“What’s the plan?” You asked. 

You made sure to put your back to the unsub and his victim. If you looked, you wouldn’t be able to focus.

“The plan is to distract him long enough to get the hostage away from him,” Spencer said. “And we need you.”

You swallowed hard. You’d been expecting it, but now that it was upon you, your tongue felt like lead and your throat was dry.

“We’ll tell you exactly what to say if you need it,” Spencer assured you.

You nodded and took his hand. Trying to keep your breathing steady, you turned around to face the man. The woman’s face was flushed red, and her eyes were wide. Larry had his arm around her neck with the knife pointed at her temple. You couldn’t see if she had been cut anywhere yet, but for the most part, she seemed to be physically alright.

You took a few steps forwards and stopped. Larry was looking at you like you were a sort of dream. For a moment, the knife lowered a few minutes as he started to realize what was happening here. You thought that perhaps just meeting you might be enough to end this, but after a moment he shook his head, realizing what was happening, and resumed his threatening stance. 

“Greet him,” Spencer whispered instructions in your ear.

“Hi, Larry,” you tried your best to keep your voice even. 

It wasn’t as though you hadn’t been in dangerous situations before, but it wasn’t the norm that you had someone else’s life in your hands, or that you were pregnant.

At the sound of your voice directed at him, he seemed a little relieved, although he did not lower the knife.

“How are you?” It felt like a strange thing to say, but you weren’t sure how else to greet him.

He let out a low laugh and wrapped his arm tighter around the girl’s neck. She squirmed and pulled at his arm, but he was stronger than he looked.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not yet.”

You knew what he meant. In the book, the author didn’t show up to stop the character he was portraying until the final kill. He would have needed to behead this girl, and then find his last victim and freeze them to death. 

“Ask him why he’s here,” Spencer said. 

“Why are you here, Larry?” You asked. You realized your hold on Spencer’s hand was now a vice grip.

“I’m not Larry, I’m Obliti,” he said defiantly. 

You had named the character this because it meant “forgotten” in Latin. You squeezed your lips into a thin line and ground your teeth.

“Play along,” Spencer suggested.

You flashed him a glance before stealing your nerve to do so.

“My apologies,” you attempted to say without anger. “Obliti. Why are you here?”

“You know why,” he spat. “Because you’ve forgotten me!”

“I’m sorry,” you tried. 

“That’s not good enough!” He seemed to be crying. “All I wanted was to be noticed. All I wanted was to feel something, but you didn’t let me.”

The words sounded similar to the ones you had written in the final showdown between the author and the character in your book. You tried to follow your own script, but weren’t sure you could without endangering yourself. The author did die at the end, after all.

“Ask him what he’s feeling now,” Spencer whispered.

“What are you feeling right now?” You asked.

He stuttered for a moment, taken aback by your question. He searched around him as if he were seeing the environment for the first time.

“Afraid,” he answered quietly. “Angry.”

You nodded, feeling similarly.

“Is that how you want to feel?” You asked.

He frowned, as if he hadn’t considered this. You thought back to what Gideon had said about the unsub wanting to feel something. He still hadn’t responded to your question. You were about to say something when he spoke up at last.

“I don’t see another choice,” he said. 

The knife was still dangerously close to the girl’s head. Larry looked strong enough to cause damage no matter where he chose to land the knife. It would be like cutting paper.

“You chose this character for a reason,” you guessed. “You wanted to feel something, and you knew Obliti felt something, didn’t you?”

He shifted on his feet, his eyes searching around before landing on you. 

“Yes,” he answered tentatively. Spencer gave your hand an affirmative squeeze. 

“You thought that was the deepest emotion?” You guessed. He nodded.

“The hate, and the anger. The violence, and the torment. Those are the strongest emotions, and I feel them now.”

You shook your head, almost smiling.

“You’re wrong,” you said carefully. You could feel Spencer tense beside you. He wasn’t on board with this plan, but he also didn’t seem to be stopping you, so you continued. “Oblitis’ emotions are not the strongest.”

“But he suffers!” Larry yelled, waving the knife dangerously. 

You instinctively put your hands up as if that would stop him. You nodded, trying to appease him and praying that your plan would work.

“You’re forgetting about the author,” you said.

It took a great effort, but you slipped your hand out of Spencer’s and took a few steps towards Larry. He was too interested in what you were going to say next to react.

“Obliti was like her child,” you explained. “The people he killed were her fault. She should have given him the life he deserved, but instead she was distracted. But she didn’t hate him by the end,” you explained, taking slow steps towards him, watching him carefully. “She loved him. She loved him because she forgave him. Compassion,” you said, hearing the begging tone in your voice. “Compassion and love. She could have easily hated him for what he had done, but what good would that do?” You pleaded with him now. He was watching you so closely, and you saw the knife back away a few inches. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that,” you quoted. “Love is more powerful than hate, than anger and fear.”

Larry looked at his victim - his trembling, heavy-breathing, very afraid - victim. He considered her for a long time - her wide eyes, the way her pulse throbbed in her neck against his arm.

“You don’t have to be a harbinger of fear and hate. You don’t have to be Obliti. You can be the author. You can decide how this ends,” you said, more calmly than you felt.

You waited, barely breathing. That was all you had. You watched as the hand holding the knife moved slowly away from the woman. His arm around her neck loosened and he dropped the knife. The police swarmed in and handcuffed him. He gave no resistance, and you saw in his eyes how troubled he was then. He kept his head down as he was escorted to the police car. 

Your knees buckled, but before you could fall, Spencer’s arms wrapped themselves around you. You fell into them gratefully and half-listened to his praises and coos between the kisses he bestowed on the top of your head.

Gideon came up behind you with a smile that seemed foreign, like a face you’d only just seen in profile suddenly turned.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly. 

The media reporters were swarming in, and you had no intention of attracting any more attention to yourself. Spencer and Gideon hustled you towards an SUV, and tucked you inside. Gideon sat up front, leaving Spencer with you in the back. You let yourself relax back into the seat as your muscles turned to water. You’d done it. You’d saved her. Although you didn’t consider it redemption, it was better than the alternative. 

The hotel wasn’t far from the park, and you made it there fairly quickly. You were sure the team wanted to see you, but you were positive you didn’t have enough energy at the moment. Spencer insisted that you rest and you did not object. When you hit the bed, you fell asleep instantly.


	11. Chapter 11

It seemed almost fitting that Spencer’s profiling career should end with your case. For you it was like symmetry. He met you on your case, and now he would finish out with another involving you. Although you’d battled internally about whether or not leaving profiling would be best for Spencer, a conversation you had right before going to his goodbye party at work settled it.

You were getting ready to go to a small dinner the gang was having at a nearby Indian place. Your stomach was bulging by now, and you felt like a tent as you put your dress on.

“Are you sure you want to be doing this?” You asked for what felt like the hundredth time. 

You knew that profiling was in Spencer’s blood, and to ask him to leave it was hard. While he had volunteered, you wondered if he simply felt obligated. And while you were pleased to have him out of the line of fire, you didn’t want your happiness to come at the cost of his.

He smiled and walked over to you. He stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you, settling his hands on your stomach. The baby kicked, eliciting a murmur of excitement from Spencer.

“I’m sure,” he said definitively.

He slid his hands down and grabbed your hand in his, leading you to the bed to sit down. 

“I never told you why Gideon left,” Spencer said softly.

“Morgan said it was just getting hard for him,” you remembered.

Spencer sighed and pushed a piece of hair back behind his ear. 

“Someone he loved very much was killed,” he said. 

Your mind flashed back to Hotch. Apparently losing loved ones was not uncommon in this game.

“Oh,” your voice came out in a whisper.

“He left a note for me to find, telling me he was leaving. He said, ‘A profiler needs to have solid footing, and I don't think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference... the tragedy… I really don't understand the world anymore… Profiling requires belief: Belief in the profile, belief in yourself. After Sarah, I no longer trust myself at home. After Tubbs, I no longer trust myself in the field. And without that, I have nothing.”

His voice was tight by the end, and you could feel the emotion it restrained. He took a moment to collect himself and you waited patiently.

“The disillusionment, the depression… I don’t want to get there. I don’t want to be who he was by the end. I’ve already come so close to losing you several times, and now,” he laid his hand on your stomach. “I don’t see how I could possibly risk this.”

You felt a smile spread on your face despite the fact that the moment was tinged with sadness.

“Gideon’s son barely knew him because of this job, and I won’t have that. I will know our son,” he said, tasting the words on his lips.  _ Our son. _

“Or daughter,” you offered.

“Or daughter,” he amended with a grin. “And teaching will be a challenge,” he decided, referencing the job he’d gotten with the bureau. 

“God, the idea of you being a professor,” you waved your hand like a fan, trying to cool yourself down at the thought.

He chuckled and blushed. You were so glad you could still make him blush after all this time.

“Should we go?” You asked, noticing the time. He nodded and helped you stand.

The restaurant was within walking distance, and the two of you decided to walk there, despite Spencer’s worry over the stress. You knew you were supposed to get a little exercise and assured him it would be fine. It only took a few minutes to walk there, and when you did, you were the last to arrive.

Hotch, JJ, Morgan, Penelope, and Gideon were waiting in the front area. They were grouped in a circle, just chatting. Gideon was smiling, laughing even. After everything, you were glad he could still do that. Morgan was the first to spot you and ran over to you, kissing you on the cheek.

“How’s my godson doing?” He asked with a grin. You rolled your eyes.

“We haven’t d--”

“I know, I know,” he held his hands up in defense and backed away. “I just thought you might want your friend who loves him the most to care for him, spoil him.”

You chuckled and Spencer sighed.

“You’re not going to shut up until you get this title, are you?” He asked.

Morgan shook his head emphatically and kept that grin on his face. You and Spencer shared a look, and you nodded.

“Fine,” he said, defeated.

“Fine, what?” Morgan asked innocently.

“Would you like to be our child’s godfather?” He asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” Morgan pretended to debate. “Let me think--”

“We could always ask Hotch,” Spencer offered.

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Morgan said, as if he had considered refusing.

Everyone laughed. You were seated and ordered quickly.

“So, how long until Morgan’s an irresponsible godfather?” Gideon chided.

“A few weeks at least,” you said. “Although I’m ready.”

“I know how you feel,” JJ offered you a look of sympathy. “The last few weeks are maddening. You just want your kid already!”

“I can’t wait for those tiny fingers and toes,” Penelope grinned.

“The first time they look at you,” Hotch’s eyes were far away. “It’s something else.”

“Have you thought of any names?” Gideon asked.

“Not really,” you answered. “Although, we all know what Morgan’s pick would be.”

Everyone turned accusingly at Morgan and he acted as if he had no idea what everyone was talking about.

“Hey, just because I’m the reason for the kid’s life even existing,” he trailed off and shrugged as the rest of the table laughed.

“We’ll see when the time comes,” Spencer said. “All we want is a healthy baby.”

“Cheers to that,” Hotch held up his glass.

“And cheers to the Boy Wonder becoming a dad,” Morgan added. 

Spencer’s eyes brimmed with happiness and pride. Morgan clapped him on the back approvingly. You clinked glasses with everyone.

“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales,” Gideon quoted. 

“Einstein,” Spencer smiled. Gideon nodded approvingly.

“Will you be staying around, Gideon?” You asked.

Gideon nodded as he took a sip of wine.

“Yes,” he said. “I have some family here, and there are a few species of birds I’d like to see again before I leave. I’m subletting an apartment from an old friend.”

You smiled, glad to have him around. 

“We’ll have to have you over,”  you offered.

“You’ll have to stop by her bookstore,” Spencer offered proudly.

The night went on like that, all pleasantry and vague future plans. You were surrounded once again in a warm bubble of bliss. Every so often, your baby would kick inside you, reminding you of even more you had to be grateful for.


	12. Chapter 12

You knew something was wrong from the way Spencer reacted to whomever was on the other end of the phone. You laid down your fork and knife from the evening’s dinner, and watched as Spencer got up and started pacing. You tried to motion to him to tell him to put it on speaker, but he hung up before you could attain his attention.

“Who was that?” You asked. You would have stood with him, but, being a few weeks away from your due date, the less movement was generally the better, you had found.

“My father,” Spencer said, his eyes darting around the room, trying to comprehend whatever he’d heard. “Or rather, a doctor, calling regarding my father.”

“Is he alright?” You asked, fearing the answer.

Spencer nodded vaguely.

“For now,” he said grimly. “They’re saying it’s not looking good.”

You grimaced. You had known this day would come, but you hadn’t suspected it would be so soon. 

“Where is he?” You asked. Spencer and his father rarely talked, and he didn’t mention details when you asked about it.

“He moved a few hours north a month or so ago,” he answered.

“Are you going to see him?” You asked. 

Spencer thought about it, biting his lip in thought.

“I probably should,” he said.

“I would go with you, but…” you motioned to your stomach.

You couldn’t go thirty minutes without having to use the bathroom, or having to get up because you couldn’t get comfortable. Bringing you along for a car ride, even only a few hours, would not be ideal if he wanted to make it there quickly and easily.

He quickly rushed over to you and knelt down in front of you.

“It’s okay, I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he said. “I don’t think I should go, what if--”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. “Despite the fact that I look like a whale, I can actually take care of myself like a real human person.”

He smiled at this and kissed your belly.

“I’ll only be a day,” he said. “Two tops.”

You nodded.

“Take as long as you need, I’m not going anywhere.” You looked down at your stomach. “And neither is he or she.”

Spencer looked at your stomach for a long time, moving his hand around it, lost in the idea of what was inside you. Your fingers migrated up to the necklace you still wore. The small heart pendant constantly reminded you that Spencer’s heart belonged to you, and yours to him. You’d come so far in your relationship, and the thought of beginning a new chapter was thrilling.

When Spencer finally stood, he kissed you on his way up. 

“I’m going to just pack a few things and then I’ll be off,” he said. 

You nodded and rocked yourself a little to get momentum, and then stood. You walked into the bedroom to watch him pack.

“Are you ready?” You asked. 

“For what?”

“What if the worst should happen,” you couldn’t help but ask. Since you wouldn’t be there with him, you wanted to make sure he was ready and able to take care of himself should his father not survive.

Spencer sighed as he finished zipping up his go bag. Although he wasn’t on the team any longer, didn’t have a reason to be ready to leave on the fly, he still hadn’t unpacked the things he kept for those occasions. Right now, you were grateful for that.

“Then… I’ll call you, and we’ll figure it out,” Spencer said. He looked sad in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. 

“Okay,” you said, not knowing what else to say.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “If I don’t answer, it’s just because of the hospital rules, but I’ll be checking it when I can.”

You nodded.

“Ditto,” you said. “Except for the hospital part of course,” you chuckled.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You walked with him to the door and saw him off. You went back to work, looking at paperwork for the bookstore. You managed to focus for a bit, then made some tea and relaxed with a book. You fell asleep on the couch and woke up in the middle of the night, having to move to the bed. The bed felt colder without Spencer. It didn’t feel like it had when he had been away on cases, this felt different. He wasn’t far away, he wasn’t in danger. He was just not with you. It surprised you, even though he had always been away a fair amount, that ache in your heart when he wasn’t near you. It was as though a lung had been taken away, and you could only half function without him, could only breathe half of what you were supposed to. You arranged some pillows to snuggle up next to, and eventually fell asleep.

In the morning, you were feeling a little sick, so you only ate a little breakfast, trying to drink some water to see if that would help calm things down. 

By lunch, you had started to feel uncomfortable and anxious. Perhaps it was just because Spencer was away and you couldn’t be with him, you considered. But when the first pain of the contraction hit, you understood what your body had been trying to prepare you for. It was happening. Now. And you were alone.

As soon as you realized what was happening, you reached for your phone and frantically dialed. As he had warned you, it went straight to voicemail. You wondered if they were more strict with the cellphones these days, especially in ICU, where his father undoubtedly was.

You tried a few times, and text him, but he did not respond. Even if you did get through though, how was he going to help you? You were in labor now, and needed to get to a hospital. Although the contractions weren’t coming very frequently yet, they would pick up soon, and then where would you be?

You thought about calling the team, of course, but they were away on a case, and had taken Penelope with them this time since Spencer had left. You were worried you’d have to call an ambulance, but a name popped into your head. Gideon.

You dialled and listened as the phone rang three times.

“Hello?” He answered brightly.

“Gideon!” You felt the relief pouring out of you.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

“No, um, sort of,” you laughed nervously. “I’m in labor,” you explained.

“Oh!” He said, sounding a little confused as to why you would call him for this.

“Spencer is visiting his father a few hours away, and I didn’t know who else to call,”  you explained. “I think I need a ride to the hospital.”

You heard some shuffling and rustling on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” you heard him say. 

You thanked him and hung up, waiting impatiently for the time to pass. You watched the clock. At the nine minute mark you heard a knock at the door. You quickly told Gideon to come in, and rocked yourself up and off the chair you’d been sitting on.

He rushed in, and, to your surprise, hugged you tightly as he smiled.

“Ready?” He asked after pulling away.

You nodded and grabbed your bags. You followed Gideon out to his car and he helped you in. During the car ride, you tried Spencer’s phone constantly, but he didn’t pick up or respond to texts. You weren’t surprised, seeing as he wouldn’t be expecting to have to be contacted so urgently, but still, you wondered whether he would be there in time, or if the baby would come into their world without him.

You gripped the car seat as another contraction came. It felt like someone was ripping you apart, trying to tear you in half by pulling your legs apart. You grunted and tried to breathe normally. Gideon glanced at you and held out his hand. You switched one of your grips from the seat to his hand and felt its warmth. The contraction passed, and his hand was nearly white from your grip. You let go as you pulled into the hospital parking lot.

You checked in with no trouble, and a nurse escorted you to a room where you would wait until you were dilated enough for the delivery room.

The room was empty, and you happily got in the bed as Gideon took a seat up by your head. You could tell he was excited for you, but also knew this should be Spencer, not him.

As soon as the doctor checked you out, and told you you had at least a few hours, if not more, you tried Spencer again. The phone rang and rang, your heart sinking with every ring. He wouldn’t pick up, he wouldn’t make it in time. 

To your surprise, and delight, you heard him pick up.

“Hello? Hey, sorry I’ve been out of touch, what happened, you called twenty-eight times.”

“Hey,” you breathed. You let out a laugh of relief. “You should probably get back here.”

“What’s happened?” He sounded scared.

“You’re going to be a dad,”  you grunted as a small pain shot through you. “Very soon,” you added once it had passed.

You heard him drop the phone and then scramble to pick it up. 

“Okay,” he said, hearing him start to run. “I’m on my way.”

He was about to hang up, but you asked, “Wait, how’s your dad?”

He seemed taken aback for a minute, but answered.

“He’s hanging in there,” he said evenly, giving nothing away. “Don’t worry about him, worry about you. Are you alone?” He asked.

“No, Gideon’s here,” you assured him. He sighed with relief. 

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, just… hang on!” He said, the excitement leaking through his voice like rays of light.

“I’ll try,” you promised, trying not to laugh.

When you hung up, you looked up at Gideon was was smiling warmly.

“What?” You blushed, wondering what he was thinking.

Gideon shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

“I just never thought I’d see the day,” he said. “Spencer married, about to be a father.”

You quirked your head to the side.

“Why’s that?” You asked.

Gideon looked down for a moment, seemingly feeling guilty for something.

“Because I always thought he’d be like me,” he said sullenly. “I thought he’d let the job consume him, that he wouldn’t be able to let any light or love in.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. You thought back to those tough cases, ones with young kids, ones with senseless violence. You thought back to the weight on his shoulders and the darkness he fought constantly. 

“He listened to you,” you said quietly. 

Gideon looked up to meet your gaze. He didn’t say anything to you continued.

“Your note,” you said. “You warned him, and he listened.”

Gideon made to say something, but stopped himself, rubbing his hand over his mouth and thinking.

“I’m not sure if he listened to me, or found a reason to follow my advice,” he said, taking your hand. “But either way, I am thankful.”

“He’s resigning,” you told him, unsure if he knew. “He’s going to teach.”

Whether Gideon knew this or not, he didn’t let on, but he smiled. It was a good smile, the kind that let him feel he had righted all his wrongs.

“Good,” he said, simply.

You sat in silence, the nurse checking in now and again. After an hour, the contractions started coming closer and closer together. You kept checking the time, wondering how long it would take Spencer to get here. When they told you that you were ready to be taken to the delivery room, you almost fought them, not wanting to go without Spencer.

Instead, you held Gideon’s hand and just hoped that Spencer would make it there on time. Hopefully just this once more he could ride in like the white knight he always was to you, just in the nick of time.

As they wheeled you around a corner, you heard something down the hall behind you. Feet were pounding the linoleum floor, and a squeaky voice shrieked, “Wait!”

You did your best to turn around and look through the nurses and doctors flooding the hallways, but you saw him.

Red-cheeked and sprinting, Spencer made his way down the hall. He slipped between patients and jumped over equipment, finally closing the distance between you. Gideon chuckled and quickly hugged him before waving to you, leaving the important job to the Spencer now. Spencer grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. He was breathing so hard you thought his lungs might explode. His eyes were bright, and he couldn’t have smiled any bigger if he’d tried.

“You made it!” You exclaimed.

“I made it,” he breathed. 

The nurses around you smiled to each other.

“Ready to be a dad?” You asked, gripping his hand as another surge of pain flooded through you.

His eyes were glistening, and he merely nodded, sniffing and trying to look like he wasn’t about to fall apart.

The actual labor was all a blur when it was over. The pushing, the breathing, the pain, the blood, everything was lost in a haze once you saw him. The doctor pulled out this small figure from between your legs. You watched in awe as Spencer cut the cord that connected you to him, the nurses wiped him off, and the doctor laid him on your chest.

He was so  _ small, _ was your first thought. He fit from just under your chin to the end of your breasts. At first you didn’t know what to do. Your hands move tentatively to touch him. He was so warm on your skin. You passed your hands just above him at first, as if he had a protective coating of air around him. When you laid your hands on his skin, felt his softness, his smallness, beneath you, you cried. Spencer kissed your forehead and wiped the sweat from your face. He leaned down with you to look into the face of your son. 

Slowly, the baby opened his eyes. He blinked twice and then closed them, making a gurgling sound as he did so. He shifted on your chest, and then settled. 

“You have a healthy baby boy,” the doctor said, after giving you a moment. 

You had forgotten he was here. 

“Thank you,” you managed through your tears.

The doctor nodded, and he and the nurses gave you the room.

It was silent except for the three sets of breath. The sound of his breathing was mesmerizing. You never wanted to listen to anything else. You tried not to move. You didn’t want to disturb him, but you were also sure that if you moved, it would break the spell and he’d be gone.

Spencer moved his fingers to the baby’s head and caressed his delicate head. Small brown hair sat, plastered to his head.

“He’s so… perfect,” Spencer said, his voice breaking with emotion.

You nodded as the tears continued to fall. 

“I want to call him Jason,” you said. “After Gideon.”

Spencer smiled and nodded. You hadn’t discussed it, nor had you given it too much thought if you were being honest, but in this moment, it seemed right. Jason was a strong name. Jason was the name of the man who had sculpted Spencer into the man he was today. Jason was the name of the man who had saved Spencer’s future, and who had essentially saved your life. You shifted, finally, and were pleased to find that nothing changed. Jason still lay on your chest, breathing softly and gurgling every so often. You moved over and Spencer slid into the bed with you. You both just stared at him for the longest time, saying nothing.

It felt like your heart would burst. You remembered once when Spencer had said that the feelings he had were too big for him, and that’s how you felt now. Your small body couldn’t hold all the joy you felt. 

They took him away to keep him warm, and clean you up, and it felt like they’d taken away your entire chest. Your heart ached for him, even though he would only be in the next room, and you could see him whenever you liked. He was a few weeks early, and they wanted to run some tests and make sure that everything was okay. After you were cleaned up and checked out, you were allowed to go and see Jason with Spencer. 

Standing in front of the glass, watching all the little ones, was Gideon. He was smiling to himself and turned to see you as you approached.

“Which one is yours?” He asked.

You moved next to him so you could point at the baby closest to you, where they had placed him.

“That him,” you said.

You waited until he had read the name on the place card identifying him.

_ Jason Reid. _

Gideon read it a few times, and turned to the two of you. He smiled, and his eyes filled, spilling only as he said, “I’m honored.”

You hugged him, followed by Spencer. The three of you stood there, just staring at him, until your doctor found you in the hallway. 

“We got the test results back, and you’re good to go,” he said happily. “You can leave whenever you’d like.”

You thought perhaps when you got home, the feeling of immense joy would lessen, but you were still bursting with it as you brought Jason over the threshold. 

That first night was surreal. You and Spencer laid Jason down in his crib next to your bed, and just stared at him. You watched his little toes crinkle, you watched his lips move and his hands grasp. He was perfect. 

Spencer pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. 

You chuckled. 

“I think this was a two man job,” you reminded him. 

He shook his head. 

“Not Jason,” he said. “Well,” he amended, “Yes, but thank you for so much more. Thank you for loving me, thank you for carrying our son, thank you for making me happier than I ever imagined I could be.”

You nestled in under his chin, watching Jason wriggle as he slept.

“It’s you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you,” you heard him whisper. 

Your heart flooded with warmth, filling every corner, every inch of you with love as you heard the words of your and Spencer’s poem. And in that moment, you knew you were complete. 


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! Sorry it took me forever to write, I got distracted by another fic!

“He has your lips,” you murmured as Jason slept on your chest in bed. 

Spencer smiled. 

“What do you think he’s dreaming about?” he asked.

You chuckled, trying not to move your chest too much.

“Probably vague shapes of our faces?” you guessed.

“I’d like to think he’s dreaming about quantum mechanics,” Spencer said dreamily.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

There was a knock at the door, and Jason fidgeted, waking up at the sound. His dreamy, sleepy eyes looked up at you and blinked.

“That’ll be them,” Spencer said. 

You nodded and gently rose, cradling Jason as you went.

Composing yourselves, you opened the door to the massive group of people standing in front of you. Hotch, Gideon, Morgan, Penelope, JJ, both of your parents, and Spencer’s father were all congregated outside your door. They looked like they wanted to give you a large, loud greeting, but upon seeing Jason, settled for waves and smiles instead.

Jason looked around inquisitively at all the new faces, and gurgled. You let them in, and everyone gathered in the living room. You held Jason as everyone stared at him.

“He’s perfect,” William said.

You looked at Spencer’s father carefully, trying to discern if he were actually doing as well as the doctor’s claimed. The recent trip to the hospital had been followed by an unexpected remission, or at least it looked like it so far. He certainly looked healthier as far as you could tell.

“We think so,” you blushed.

“He’s got your eyes,” Penelope nearly danced. “Can I touch his little toes?” she asked.

You laughed and nodded. She scooched closer to squeeze his toes lightly. “Oh my gosh, those little beans!” she squealed.

“Hey kid,” Morgan addressed Spencer. “Has he recited the theory of relativity yet?”

Spencer rolled his eyes and laughed.

Your parents cooed over him, and everyone seemed to be focused on the little center of life you and Spencer had created. There was food and laughter, love and light all around you.

You’d never had a particularly large group of close family, but you knew now that you always would in the future. 

As the months went on, Jason proved to live up to his name. He was strong and steady. He wasn’t fussy or temperamental. He seemed to be an old soul already. The love you felt for the little guy was so intense, you didn’t think you could describe it if you tried. Just leaving the room was enough to make your heart ache. Every time you looked at him you could see a bit of you and Spencer in him, mixed together to make the very best combination.

Some of your favorite moments included walking in on the boys after they’d fallen asleep on the couch listening to an audiobook of, “A Brief History of Time,” Jason sprawled out on Spencer’s chest, rising and falling with his father’s breath; lifting Jason and swinging him around you, listening to the constant stream of giggles from him and his father; seeing him grow taller and taller every month, every year, until he reached his father’s knee; finding Jason sitting on the floor with a crayon with a guilty look at the wall he had drawn on, and an even guiltier look from his father who had joined him; Halloweens with family costumes; and reading him bedtimes stories. 

You had written many stories, told many tales, but none rivaled that of your life with Spencer and Jason. Gone were the days of killers and blood, and here were the days of love and learning. 

Spencer thrived in his position as professor, and you found new things to write about through motherhood. It seemed too good to be true. You had the perfect child, the perfect husband, the perfect life. 

As you fell asleep every night, wrapped in the arms of the love of your life, as you woke every morning to see the eyes of your son open and blink up at you, you couldn’t wish for anything more.


End file.
